


Right Place, Wrong Time

by Regann



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, College, High School, Hilarity, M/M, Pining, Season 1, They meet earlier, gus is the best bff ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regann/pseuds/Regann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on LJ in 2007-2008. By request from several people, I am reposting it here. Please note that this was written just after the wrap of Season 1 and has not been edited to make it compliant with any information revealed in subsequent seasons.

Shawn Spencer had a plan.

Of course, his best friend Gus didn't think it was a very good one but Shawn knew that his friend was wrong. Not only was his plan a good one, it was better than good -- it was cosmic, smiled upon by something like fate or destiny. With minimal effort on his part, everything had fell into place with the kind of precision and perfection that told him that someone up there liked him -- and wanted him to have a chance to party like it was 1999, even if he was five or so years early.

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this," Gus grumbled for the umpteenth time, knuckles white from his death grip on the car's huge, oversized steering wheel. It was an old 70s Ford LTD that had once been "Champagne" in color but had oxidized to a muddy brown; it was as big as a tank but Shawn loved it because its backseat was the perfect place to catch a quick nap during sixth period English.

"Gus, please, it's not a big deal," Shawn said, currently lounging in the passenger seat. He had his sunglasses pushed up on his face, filtering the last rays of the California sun on that warm Friday afternoon. "Everything will go off without a hitch!"

Gus tore his eyes away from the road long enough to glare at him. "That's what you always say."

"I'm an optimist like that," he admitted, tilting his head toward the warmth of the sunlight as he closed his eyes. His window was down, and the wind was rushing against his face, mangling his hair and almost stealing his breath from its strength. He loved it.

"Well, you also said it about Winter Social and look how good that turned out," Gus snorted. "Your dad grounded you for three months, your mom refused to bail you out and then when your dad caught you trying to sneak out of the house, he made you help him with his gun collection, so you spent the whole break up to your elbows in walnut shells." 

Shawn shuddered at the memory of helping Henry tumble brass and dump powder into over a thousand spent shells, his dad being the only cop he knew who was cheap enough to reload the bullets he used for range practice. "This isn't remotely similar."

"Uh huh."

"God is on my side, Gus!"

"How do you figure that? I doubt God wants you to crash a bunch of frat parties!"

Shawn set up and wriggled around until he could pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. "Number one, my fake ID arrived when? Just this Monday." Shawn pulled it out and admired it; according to the piece of plastic that had cost him a whole summer's worth of salary from odd jobs, he was 21 years old, named Shawn Steele, and a resident of 447 Rococo Ln in Anaheim, California.

"So?"

"So? So?" Shawn sputtered dramatically. "So what happens this weekend? It's my parents' wedding anniversary and they decide to take a romantic weekend trip out of town -- thus giving me the perfect chance to test out said ID."

"Okay, so you're parent-free this weekend," Gus conceded. "If that's all you needed, how did I end up as part of your plan? You could've crashed a local college party."

"Poor, misguided, naive little Burton," Shawn was shaking his head and making cluckety-noises with his tongue. "No way, man. If I got busted in Santa Barbara, Henry would know before the ink was dry on my fingerprints! I could never try this in town. That's why I know this is cosmically fated, Gus. The fact that you happen to be going to visit your aunt in Laguna Beach and you just happen to be going right past UC Irvine where I happen to know there's going to be a big Greek blowout this weekend...god, I love it when a plan comes together!"

Shawn sat back in his seat with a sigh of absolute contentment, a smug little smile on his face. This weekend was going to be the best, totally bitchin' and he wouldn't even have to suffer for it. Henry would be none the wiser and he, Shawn Spencer, was going to finally do _it_ , finally take the plunge, the leap, whatever, and stop being the only damn virgin in their senior class.

Yes, Shawn Spencer had a plan: he was going to get laid. Hopefully by a hot, blonde coed of very loose morals.

"Whatever you say, Hannibal," Gus muttered, pulling Shawn out of his torrid little thoughts. "I think you're crazy and I just hope to god that you don't get killed or something -- I don't want to be the one who has to explain this to your folks."

"Gus, I'm hurt," Shawn pouted, even as he leaned up to jiggle the radio tuner. The LTD was so old it had an 8-track player and he was tempted to pop in one of Gus's dad's Meatloaf tapes just to escape the talk. "You won't miss me? I'm your best friend!"

"Well, I might miss the company," Gus admitted. "But, on the other hand, I wouldn't have anyone dragging me into stuff like this or phoning in fake messages from my mom to the school nurse so I can be excused from sixth period PE or telling Patrice Taylor that I'm the one who stole her underwear from her locker, so -- I think it all balances out."

Shawn finally hit a station playing music and settled back in his seat. "You worry too much, Gus," he admonished his friend. "Nothing's gonna go wrong, I promise."

Gus chose not to reply and Shawn turned his head back toward the open window, head toward the sun once again as the strains of the Gin Blossoms' _Hey Jealousy_ reached his ears over the drumming rush of the ocean-tinted wind.

Shawn was certain, though, that it was going to be the perfect weekend.

When they finally reached the university, Gus dropped him off in one of the busier campus parking lots, just as the sun was starting dip below the water in the western horizon. 

"You've got my aunt Eileen's number, right?" Gus asked through the open car window, as he drove slowly to keep steady with Shawn's leisurely walking pace.

"Yes, Gus, I do," Shawn told him impatiently, patting his back pocket where he kept his wallet. Along with the scrap of paper with Aunt Eileen's number, Shawn also had other essentials: his fake ID, all the cash he had, and the four condoms he'd managed to steal from the public health nurse back home.

"You'll call if anything happens, right?" Gus was actually starting to sound worried as opposed to pissed. "I'll come get you, no matter what stupid trouble you're in."

"I love you, too, Gus," Shawn told him, patting the dark arm resting on the window sill. "But everything's going to be fine. Go visit your aunt, have fun eating her delicious pineapple upside-down cake and don't worry about me!"

"I'll meet you here tomorrow, about 1PM," Gus promised.

"And I'll be here," Shawn swore, making the junior Bobcat sign for scout's honor. "Don't worry! Everything's gonna be perfect-o!"

Gus gave him another stern look. "You keep saying that..." With one last quick wave, Gus sped up and headed out of the crowded lot. 

Shawn watched until he could no longer see Gus's tank of a car and then he grinned, jauntily stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets as he strolled onto the campus proper. Even though classes had probably long since ended, the campus green was still buzzing with activity and Shawn mingled, trying his best to look like he was just another college student heading out late on a Friday afternoon.

He knew that was going to be half the battle -- blending. The last thing he wanted was to be pegged for a high school kid before he even got a chance use his ID card. He'd even dressed specifically for the occasion: faded jeans, Whitesnake T-shirt, flannel and his best pair of black Converse. Though close to his usual fare, Shawn figured the Whitesnake shirt added a few years in musical taste, and he felt like there was something about classic Chucks that said "I think deep thoughts but I'm still cool."

Now that he was actually here, Shawn had one last mini-directive before he could sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labor and that was actually locate a totally bitchin' party to crash. Though he would've never mentioned it to Gus, Shawn's knowledge of the parties at UC Irvine were only theoretical; he'd figured, however, that he could easily locate one once he was at the school. 

It wasn't like it could be too difficult to find a frat party on a Friday night.

Still trying to look college-y, Shawn rambled around the campus until he found one of the many school notice boards, right outside the student union building. Sifting through countless flyers of students trying to find roommates, sell guitars, or offer their services as Spanish-language tutors, he finally found what he was looking for -- a piece of paper announcing just such a party at one of the local houses. There was a five dollar cover charge -- supposedly for charity -- but it was starting in a few hours, just about three blocks from the main campus.

If he'd looked into a mirror, Shawn would've seen that his grin was so wide it was starting to eclipse the rest of his face in strange, contorted ways but he probably wouldn't have cared. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he cheerfully yanked the flyer from the board and shoved it into his pocket, just in case; he might need it for something later.

He might have had to kill a few hours, but the last piece of his plan had just fallen into place and Shawn couldn't help but be smug about it. It _had_ to be destiny working in his favor, he decided; nothing else could explain it.

Secure in the knowledge that the universe wanted him to get laid that evening, Shawn went off in search of snacks and hopefully something cold and fruity like a smoothie with which to fortify himself for the night's upcoming festivities.

**

Carlton Lassiter approached the loud, crowded fraternity house with something so close to dread that it was nearly indistinguishable. He hated big crowds, especially when they were made of drunk undergrads and he had never really enjoyed the frat party scene, not during any of his years at school. So he couldn't help but wonder why he was even bothering to subject himself to it when he had so many other things he could be doing with his time.

Actually, he did know why -- and that was his roommate. Rodney, a loud-mouthed but certifiable genius working out of the School of Engineering, had all but shoved him out of their on-campus apartment. 

"You've been working entirely too hard, Carlton," Rodney had stated. "You need to relax, have some fun, go out."

"I am relaxing," Carlton had argued. "Right here, in my room."

"No, no, you're not," Rodney had argued. "What you're doing is ruining my concentration and I cannot work under these conditions! I need some alone time if I'm ever going to finish this!"

Loud-mouthed, Canadian and neurotic -- a lethal combination in a roommate, Carlton thought unfairly. It wasn't that he didn't like Rodney; actually, they got along well. The problem was that sometimes they were simply too much alike.

In the end, though, Rodney had persuaded him to vacate their small apartment for a few hours, arguing that it was probably the last chance he'd have to enjoy himself at a rollicking campus shindig. After all, it was almost summer vacation and Carlton would be headed back home to Santa Barbara where he'd spend his time shadowing a detective on an observer's pass. Whatever information he garnered from those ninety days would finish up the research for his thesis and he'd spend all of fall semester getting ready for his comps and thesis defense. Then he'd have his MAS in Criminology and he could pursue his ultimate goal of a becoming a police detective.

It was the glaring reality of that future swiftly coming upon him that had pushed Carlton out the door --until he'd actually reached the frat house and remembered all the reasons he hated college parties. What had be been thinking?

Still, he was there and he might as well make the best of it and give Rodney his few hours of peace, he decided. It was with that attitude that Carlton paid his five bucks to get in, flashed his license to prove his age and, once he'd gotten his blue wrist band to show the bartender, headed into the chaos that was the "charity celebration."

As soon as he stepped inside, he wanted to turn around and leave. It was everything he hated about frat parties -- too loud, too smoky, too crowded with too many slovenly drunken kids. At twenty-five, Carlton couldn't help but think of the undergrads as kids even though he was still a student himself. They were so young and stupid and irresponsible, on the average, that he was surprised that'd even made it into a university at all. 

He didn't ever remember being that young.

Carlton pushed his way through the crowds, wading through bodies in order to reach the bar tucked back near the house's kitchen. Although he wasn't a big drinker, he figured a little Dutch courage would be about the only thing that could keep him there for longer than a few minutes. And since he paid his cover, he might as well drink its price in alcohol.

"Hey," he called out as he reached the counter acting as the makeshift bar. The frat brother tending looked up from his flirty conversation with a pretty dark-haired girl. "What are you serving?"

"What do you want?"

"A shot of something hard," Carlton replied. "And a beer chaser."

"You got it, man," the frat brother nodded, quickly producing a shot glass of Tequila and a plastic cup of light beer. Carlton nodded in thanks and quickly downed the shot. 

He'd only taken a few sips of his beer when someone sidled up beside him, obviously trying to reach the bar as well. Unfortunately, space at the bar was premium and the someone jostled his arm. Carlton just had enough time to step back to keep his beer from sloshing down the front of his shirt.

"Hey, watch it!" he advised the guy, shooting him a glare.

The guy was all polite remorse. "Oh, man, I'm totally sorry!" He grabbed a napkin from the counter and started dabbing at the drops of beer that had hit Carlton's shirt. "Here, let me get this for you."

Carlton brushed the hand away. "I got it," he told him, grabbing the napkin from him and wiping at his shirt. "It wasn't that much."

"Yeah but still, I am totally sorry," the guy said again. 

Carlton nodded to illustrate his acceptance of the apology but found himself staring at the kid. And "kid" really was the right word for him, he noted. He was short, especially compared to Carlton, and scrawny with wild brown hair and faded, baggy clothes. The only thing he had going for him that Carlton could see was his apologetic smile which was nice and sincere-looking.

Then Carlton noticed the blue band on the kid's wrist and his eyebrows rose. 

"You drinking?" he asked dubiously.

The nice smile got bigger. "Well, duh," he laughed, waving his banded wrist. "That's what I'm here for!"

"You ordering?" the frat brother asked as the new guy shimmied closer to the bar -- and closer to Carlton, who was now wedged between a wall, the counter, and the kid.

"Yeah, beer," the kid said and the frat brother mumbled something about getting another keg before he disappeared.

"You actually expect me to believe you're 21?" Carlton snorted.

The kid looked at him with surprise, although there was a jumpy tick to one eyelid that made Carlton even more suspicious. "I got the blue band, don't I? I showed the nice man at the door my ID and everything."

"Uh huh." 

The kid grinned at him again and leaned over the counter, so far that his feet came off the ground as he looked down into the kitchen. "Where did that bartender go anyway?"

Carlton eyed the guy laying across the counter, ass in the air, and shook his head. If this kid was 21, then Carlton was a border collie.

"Why don't you show me that ID, slick?" he challenged.

The kid glanced back at him from over his shoulder, again surprised. "Yeah, sure, alright," he consented, straightening up and reaching into his back pocket. "What are you, the morality police?"

"Something like that," he deadpanned. Carlton wasn't sure why he cared if the kid was actually old enough to drink other than the fact that he would've been witnessing it and that left him feeling uncomfortable. He supposed it was due to the strong moral center he'd gained through years of what Rodney called "wholesale indoctrination and religious brainwashing" and what he called "parochial school." It was probably that same thing that made him want to be a cop.

The kid handed over the ID with a flourish and it took Carlton about three seconds to know that it was fake. "Shawn Steele of Anaheim, huh?"

"That's me," the kid -- Shawn, apparently -- said.

Carlton shook his head. "So how much did you pay for this low-quality fake?"

Finally, Shawn looked well and truly shocked. He was also turning a bit green around the gills which Carlton attributed to the sickening realization that he'd been caught. "Fake?" he laughed nervously. "What do you mean, fake? It's real, seriously."

Carlton rolled his eyes. "There are at least six mistakes on this. It's laughable how bad of a fake this is!"

Shawn's eyes widened. "Really?" He reached for the ID as if to inspect it for mistakes.

Carlton cut him off my grabbing the kid's blue-banded wrist. "I don't think so," he told him coolly, pocketing the piece of plastic. 

"Come on, man!" the kid protested.

Instead of answering, Carlton reached across the counter and grabbed the knife that the frat brother had been using to cut limes. Handling the citrus-smelling knife deftly, he sliced the blue band from the kid's arm with a quick flick of his wrist.

"Hey!"

Carlton sighed and damned his moral center. He dropped the knife and took the kid by the arm, tugging him through the crowd toward the front door. "Let's go."

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you taking me?" Shawn protested, struggling to break the grip on his arm. Unfortunately for the kid, he was scrawny and Carlton had height, weight and strength on his side.

When they reached the front door where two other brothers were checking IDs and taking money, Carlton stopped and drew the struggling kid up beside him. "You see this kid?" 

He vaguely recognized them from a mid-level seminar he once covered during his semester as a TA; he assumed that they recognized him by the way they nodded warily.

"He is not 21 years old," he explained, tugging on Shawn's arm for emphasis. At his side, the kid looked torn between anger and contrition. "If he tries to come back tonight, do not let him in. Understood?"

They nodded again.

"Good, glad you do." He waved goodbye with his free hand and dragged Shawn along with the other. "Come on, you."

"My name isn't "You," ya know." the kid muttered as Carlton led him down the steps, onto the sidewalk and then down the street.

"No, according to your fake ID, it's Shawn Steele," he returned dryly.

"Just because my birthday was fake, doesn't mean my name is," the kid explained. "My name's really Shawn."

"So, you admit it was fake?" Now that they were several blocks from the party, the street around them was quiet.

"I didn't say that either!" With a tremendous burst of strength, he broke Carlton's hold on his arm.

Carlton stopped and turned to look at him: Shawn was wincing and rubbing his arm where Carlton had held onto him. 

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" he complained -- overdramatically, Carlton thought. "What's your name, anyway? I think you owe me that much since you just ruined my night!"

"Well, this wasn't exactly what I had planned, either," he snapped back. "And not that it's any of your business but -- Carlton."

"So, _Carlton_ ," Shawn said, lingering over the name. "Like, what are you, a cop or something? I feel like I walked into an episode of _21 Jump Street_."

"No, I'm not a cop," he said. "Luckily for you."

"Yeah, no joke," he laughed. 

As Shawn's laughter faded, Carlton noticed that the kid was watching him with a strange look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing, man!" he promised. "Just...were you taking me somewhere a minute ago or were you going where the mood struck you?"

Carlton was brought up short because he didn't know what he'd planned to do with kid; he'd only known that he'd decided to get him away from the party. "I'm tempted to drag you over to the security office and report you," he finally said.

Suddenly Carlton had Shawn all in his personal space, thin hands patting him on the arms. "Now, now, Carlton, that's not necessary," he was saying, words in time with the patting. "You did your good deed already, you took away my ID and even my little blue band. I think that's enough, don't you?"

He gave the kid a dark look but decided that he was right. He'd keep Shawn's ID and send him on his way and then try to find another way to kill a few hours. It wasn't like he'd planned to enjoy himself at the party anyway. "Yeah, sure, I'll call it even. But if I talk to either of those guys from the fraternity and find out you tried to get back in? I'll track you down and make sure your RA knows about this."

"Threat communicated and received, Carlton! I'll be a complete angel for the rest of the night," Shawn nodded, still in his space but no longer touching him.

"Sounds like a good idea," he told him.

"So, change of plans, no frat party." Shawn smiled again and rubbed his hands together as if getting ready to get down to business. "What are we gonna do now?"

Carlton stopped short. "We?"

Shawn was giving him another odd look, like he thought he was speaking to a child. "Well, you're the one who ruined my evening of fun and excitement. Therefore you -- yes you, Carlton -- must now entertain for the rest of the evening."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do," Shawn argued. "Clearly, your mama didn't raise a very well-mannered boy because my mom taught me all there was to know about good manners and it's right there in good manners handbook."

"Do you want to go the security office, after all?" Carlton asked. "You're pushing your luck."

Shawn waved his threat away. "I haven't begun to push, Carly," he told him. "Of course, you could just give me back my ID and I'll leave you alone."

"Not happening, kid."

"Well, then..." Shawn drew up beside him, until his shoulder was brushing Carlton's arm. He wasn't quite tall enough for them to brush shoulders. "Your mission, which you have already accepted, is to en-ter-tain me for the evening. Feel free to start any time now."

"Have it your way," Carlton told him, grabbing him by the arm once again. "We'll start with a nice visit to the security office."

"Aw, don't be like that," Shawn protested even as he let himself be pulled along. "Just think of the fun we could have! I'm smart, witty, charming -- and I have it on very good authority that I'm adorable. You could do a lot worse than me, you know!"

Carlton stopped again and glared down at his companion. Shawn was grinning at him and his eyes were half-lidded -- a devious look on his youthful face. "Are you coming on to me?"

The grin brightened and the eyes turned smoky. "Do you want me to be?"

For a moment, he didn't know how to respond; then he rolled his eyes. "Just what I needed -- a smart-assed kid. That's it, you're going to Security."

"Okay, fine," Shawn said. "Take me to the security office. And when they ask me where I got my fake ID, I'm going to tell them that it was a guy named Carlton who gave it to me, and he's also the one who took me to the frat party where I was drinking. I think that's called "contributing to the delinquency of a minor," right?"

"Are you threatening me?" Carlton asked incredulously, stopping again to stare at Shawn.

"Nope, not at all," he assured him. "Just letting you make an informed decision."

Standing there on the quiet street, Carlton weighed his options. It wasn't as if he was worried about anyone actually believing the kid's story; he was too well-known with the administration and the security departments for it to be a problem for him. On the other hand, as much as he was loathed to admit it, the kid was right about one thing: their plans for the evening had changed and -- well, the kid was entertaining, if nothing else. 

And he still needed to kill a few hours before he went home to kill Rodney for getting him into this mess in the first place.

"Don't you have any friends?" he asked Shawn, a little harsher than he intended.

Shawn's face dropped a little and Carlton suddenly felt bad as the young man bowed his head and looked at his feet like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "Well, yeah, of course, I do, I just..." He trailed off and looked back up at Carlton with sad, pleading eyes that put many pouting women to shame.

Carlton couldn't believe the words even as he said them. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Fine?" Shawn repeated, suddenly chipper again. "You'll do it?"

"Yes, fine," he repeated. "I'll...entertain you. But just for a few hours, mind! Just until I head back to my place."

"Sounds great, good, fine even," Shawn told him, gesturing with his hands to illustrate his approval. 

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this, Carlton muttered under his breath.

Still, Shawn heard him. "Don't worry, Carly. I promise we're gonna have the time of our lives."

**


	2. Chapter 2

When he'd first taken his fake ID and dragged him from the frat party, Shawn had decided that there was no one he hated more at that moment than the tall, big-eared dumb ass who had taken it upon himself to ruin Shawn's cosmically-blessed plan for the night. 

Who was he, Shawn had wanted to know, to think that it was his place to screw up Shawn's fun?

Still, Shawn hadn't been able to stop himself from noticing nice things about him, either. Like he was tall and strong, and had been fairly pleasant when Shawn had accidentally knocked into him -- something a lot of people wouldn't have been. 

He had also noticed that Carlton had some of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen on a real person. The only person who'd had eyes as nearly blue was his Statistics teacher, Mrs. Webb, but he knew for a fact that she wore colored contacts over her naturally blue eyes to make her irises that electric color. He could look at Carlton's and tell it was all natural.

So, Carlton wasn't bad to look at and was probably a nice guy under that gruff exterior; really, stopping a kid from breaking the law was actually a good thing to do, except that it was Shawn he was stopping. In any other instance, Shawn might even approve. 

Then there was the fact that Carlton had singled him out and caught him in his deception, something only his parents and Gus had never been able to do with any consistency. That, as much as anything, intrigued Shawn.

Somewhere between talking to the frat boys at the door and his pithy _Jump Street_ reference, Shawn had decided that, as far as back-up plans went, Carlton wasn't a bad one, at least in lieu of the partying and drinking. He'd have to get to know the guy a little better before he decided if he would be an acceptable replacement for the ditzy, blond fantasy that Shawn had hoped to know carnally before he returned to Santa Barbara.

Of course, going with Carly for that ultimate objective would necessitate a little more explanation with Gus come morning and a little more preparation come the actual act that night but Shawn was nothing if not flexible, be it in regards to his sexuality, his plans or his dazzling conversational skills. Luckily, he'd had his sexual identity crisis the summer before when he'd realized that he'd be just as happy doing Jason Priestley as he would be doing Shannon Doherty during a very illuminating game of Truth or Dare at Angie Delgado's summer pool party.

And it wasn't like Carlton wasn't sparking a few fires for Shawn. Not that he wanted to examine it too closely but he hadn't exactly been unhappy about being dragged and slung around, even when Carlton's grip had left red marks on his arms.

The more he thought about it, the surer he was that he wasn't even going to touch that particular kink he seemed to have.

"So, where to first?" Shawn asked as he gamely followed Carlton. They'd finally walked the short distance back to the campus proper. "Another party? Your dorm? What?"

"No and no," Carlton told him. "We're going to eat."

"Eat?" Shawn frowned. "Doesn't sound very exciting, Carlton. I'd much rather be drinking and dancing or something."

Carlton shot him a dark look as he led him toward on of the campus's parking lots. Shawn didn't remember passing it on his earlier rounds about the school, so he figured it was one of the residential lots for students living on-campus. "Do you have your real ID with you?"

"No?"

"Then we can't go anywhere you'll be carded then, Einstein," Carlton told him. "Which rules out anything other than G-rated entertainment."

"Why? I've still got my other one. Well, _you_ still have it but still..."

He stopped next to a vehicle, a nondescript economy car. "The whole point of me babysitting you is to keep from you breaking the law and getting in trouble."

"Babysitting?" Shawn scoffed. "Carlton, I'm hurt."

He just rolled his eyes. "If you're coming, get in."

Shawn actually paused for a moment. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop himself from hearing his dad's voice in his head, warning him never to get into a car with a stranger. Of course, Henry had also forbade him to sneak out of the house, drink alcohol and a hundred other things he did on a regular basis and didn't get caught doing. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the passenger door open and threw himself into the seat.

"Though maybe you'd changed your mind," Carlton mused as he started the car, shooting Shawn an amused glance that said he knew exactly what had been passing through his mind.

"Me? Never," Shawn said, followed by another little nervous laughter.

That seemed to amuse Carlton even more and he almost cracked a smile as he pulled his car out of the lot and headed off campus.

Even as he tried to squash his nervousness, Shawn couldn't help but tap his fingers idly against the car door, keeping beat with some tuneless song in his head. If he'd been in Gus's car or driving with his mom, he'd have fiddled with the radio dial but since he didn't know Carlton all that well, he figured he had better not press his luck.

They didn't drive very far; Shawn had just started to relax when Carlton turned into the parking lot of a small Mexican-style restaurant. They ducked into the little establishment and Shawn looked around with interest, quickly noting the thirteen people inside, that there seemed to be only two waitresses and that there was a crack in the glass of the framed photograph hanging on the back wall. 

"Ah, Carlton, buenos noches," said the hostess in heavily-accented English, leading Shawn to believe that this must be one of Carlton's usual hangouts. "I see you have a friend with you tonight."

"Er, yes," he said, smiling back at the woman. Shawn noticed that he looked much nicer when he smiled. "Got a place for us tonight, Teresa?"

"For you, always," she smiled. She led them to a nice, cozy booth in the back, right near the bathrooms and the broken-glassed photograph. Teresa left them with menus and promised to send their waitress over with sodas as soon as possible.

"Well, this is nice," Shawn observed, tapping his fingers on the scratched table top. "Quiet, secluded...are you trying to tell me something?"

"Be quiet and figure out what you want to eat," Carlton told him evenly.

Defeated, Shawn opened his menu and stared at the selections. It took him about thirty seconds to decide he'd get an order of fajitas, so he re-closed it and laid it aside. "I'm assuming from that touching scene with Senorita Teresa that you come here often?"

"Good food, good prices, close to campus," Carlton said by way of an affirmation. "We used to have some of our study groups here."

"Oh really? And what is it you study, Carlton?"

He lowered his menu before answering. "Criminology, actually."

Shawn couldn't believe his luck -- or rather unluck. Could he not ever escape the long arm of the law? "So you are kinda like a cop." 

"Not really," he replied. "Not yet, anyway."

"No wonder you went all Dudley Do-Right on me," Shawn continued. "It's very cute, how law-abiding you are."

Carlton rolled his eyes and laid his menu aside. "Figured out what you want to order?"

Shawn took the cue and let the matter drop, just in time for the waitress to arrive with their drinks and take their orders. When she took their menus away, Carlton turned back to him. "So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's your major?"

"I'm...undecided at the moment," Shawn hedged. He figured he was lucky that Carlton thought he was an underage undergraduate and not an even-more-underaged high school student. "Not even sure if this college thing is for me or not."

"You've got time to decide," Carlton said. "Another few semesters before you really need to declare. You're young yet."

"Yeah, about that...just how old are you? You talk like you're ancient."

"I'm twenty-five -- which makes me several years older than most incoming students." He looked at Shawn pointedly.

That made for about a eight-year age difference, Shawn quickly calculated. Probably even more than Carlton thought. "I thought it only takes, like, four years to finish college."

"It does. What's your point?"

"Well, you're still here."

Carlton snorted and mumbled something like "stupid freshman" under his breath. "I'm in the graduate program. I'm working on my MAS."

"Your mass of what?"

This time, Carlton's snort was more like a laugh and less like a sound of irritation. Shawn considered it a success. "M-A-S. Master of Applied Science."

"Ah, that makes more sense." Shawn took a gulp of his soda and grinned. "So, that means you're, like, really smart, right?"

"Something like that," he mumbled, looking a bit pink in the face. 

The conversation lulled a bit but the food arrived so Shawn had something else with which to occupy himself. Carlton seemed similarly inclined and silence hung over the table. Shawn took the chance to cast his gaze out over the restaurant and even farther out over the parking lot through the front window.

His gaze landed on a thing of beauty and he couldn't help his low whistle of appreciation. 

"What?" Carlton asked around a mouthful of quesadilla.

He pointed toward the motorcycle that was parked right in front of the restaurant's window. "Dude, that's beautiful."

Carlton looked at it for a moment. "You like dangerous stuff, don't you?"

Shawn tore his gaze away from the sweet ride to look quizzically at his companion. "I don't know what you mean by that."

"Motorcycles, fake IDs, getting in cars with strangers...they're all pretty dangerous pastimes for a kid."

"Point one, just because I'm younger than you doesn't make me a kid," Shawn protested. "Point two, you're almost a cop and I feel perfectly safe with you."

"You missed _my_ point entirely."

"No, I didn't. You think I like things that'll get me trouble, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I like you," Shawn said, watching him out of the corner of his eye, trying to add a little something to his voice by lowering it. "Are you gonna get me trouble, Carlton?"

Carlton almost choked on the soda he'd been drinking. Shaking his head, he set his glass down. "I'm still thinking about it. Security's looking better and better."

"Oh, come on, you know you're having fun with me," Shawn argued. "And you owe me -- something fun! Exciting!"

"Wasn't dinner enough?"

"Why, you paying?"

**

Carlton did pay for the entire meal, though he wasn't exactly sure how it happened. That, along with a few other small things, gave him the insane impression that he was on some kind of cracked-out date. It had all the earmarks of one: awkward conversation, studied silences, his footing the bill for it all. Carlton figured it was a sign that Rodney had been right about him working too hard that his time spent with Shawn that evening was the closest thing he'd had to a successful social outing in months.

As hysterical as the idea was, Carlton couldn't shake the similarities between his present situation and a "date" as Shawn cajoled and wheedled him until he agreed on another stop and they somehow ended up at the coast.

"The beach?" Shawn scoffed, even as he scrambled out of the car. "I could've went to the beach at home."

"Well, we're not that far from Anaheim," Carlton pointed out.

"Anaheim? Oh yeah, Anaheim." Shawn said distractedly. He was looking out over the ocean, eyes scanning the blue horizon. "I guess it's a nice beach, though. Very...sandy."

"It's one of its main attractions," Carlton said dryly. "That and the water."

Despite the arguable humor in his words, Shawn laughed, a sound only slightly tinged with the nervousness he'd displayed off-and-on all evening. "You're probably onto something there."

Carlton nudged the kid with his elbow. "I didn't drive out here to look at the sand from the parking lot. Let's go."

"Sure thing, Carlton," Shawn said eagerly, jogging a little to keep up with Carlton's long-legged stride. Their particular stretch of the beach was empty and they were alone as they traipsed along the water's edge. 

As surprising as it was, Carlton was enjoying himself even though it seemed counter-intuitive that he should enjoy spending time with a freshman who had essentially tried to blackmail him into hanging out. Maybe that was part of the charm, he thought. And Shawn was charming in his own way -- excited, eager, grinning, energetic. Shawn reminded him of a particularly playful wolfhound puppy that his uncle Seamus had once had, as adorable as it had been irritating.

"So a cop, huh?" Shawn said after a few minutes of silence. 

Carlton smiled, secretly surprised that the kid had let the silence last for as long as it had. The boy seemed determined to fill every minute with chatter and whenever Carlton fell down on his side of the conversation, Shawn seemed perfectly willing to take up the slack. "Yeah, it's what I've always wanted to do," he explained.

"Why didn't you just go straight to the academy, then? You could've saved yourself a lot of time and money."

"Education is never a waste, Shawn," Carlton told him.

"Yeah, I know. Just saying."

"I want to be the best," Carlton admitted. "It seemed like this was the best way to make sure I could."

"I hear ya, Carly, I do," Shawn said. He had his hands jammed down into his front pockets. "So, do you wanna stay around here when you get finished or head back to Carpinteria?"

Carlton's feet slowed and he eyed the kid with suspicion. "I didn't tell you I was from Carpinteria."

"I know."

"How did you know then?"

"I saw it on your driver's license," Shawn shrugged. 

Carlton patted his back pocket to make sure his wallet was still there. "Did you steal my wallet when I wasn't looking?"

"No, of course not!" Shawn protested.

"Then how did you know what my license says?"

"I saw it when you had it out at the restaurant," he explained simply, shrugging again.

Carlon thought back to when he’d had it open -- maybe for about five seconds, just long enough to pull some cash out for dinner. And Shawn had been on the opposite side of the booth. “You could read it from there?”

“Yeah,” Shawn nodded. “I also saw that you have a local library card, your student ID, a very new-looking American Express, a MENSA card -- see, I knew you were smart! -- and that you laminated your Social Security card.” Shawn wagged his finger at him, making a tsk-ing noise with his tongue. “That’s against the law, you know.”

Carlton didn’t need to check his wallet to know that Shawn was right on the money. “And you saw all that? And remembered? After just a few seconds?”

“Well, _yeah_.”

“Wow. That’s impressive, Shawn,” Carlton laughed. “Amazing, actually.”

“Really?” Shawn perked up, his grin lighting up his whole face. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” he assured him. “I _wish_ I could do that.”

“Thanks, man,” Shawn said, still grinning. “It’s a finely-honed skill that most people don’t appreciate, let me tell you.”

“You mean you get in trouble for snooping, right?” Carlton guessed.

“Got it in one, dude,” Shawn admitted laughingly and Carlton couldn’t stop himself from laughing, too.

“Maybe you’re the one who should become a cop,” Carlton observed, mostly in jest.

Shawn’s smile faded a little, and he started looking at his feet again. “That has been...suggested to me, actually.”

“You don’t seemed too thrilled with the idea,” Carlton said.

“For awhile, I thought about it,” Shawn told him. “I mean, it’s a noble profession. Cops are, like, heroes, right?”

“I think so,” Carlton admitted.

“Yeah, exactly but...” Shawn shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s right for me, you know?”

“I can see where someone might feel that way,” he said. “What’s your problem with it?”

“At the moment? That my dad wants me to do it.”

Carlton tried to hide his humor at Shawn’s response. “Well, that’s hardly the job’s fault, yeah? For what it‘s worth, I think you could be good at it.”

“Once I get my _Mass_ in Criminology like you, you mean?” Shawn asked. Carlton could tell that he was trying to make it a joke but there was something serious underneath the question.

“No,” he finally answered. “I think you could do fine without any of that.”

He’d thought that Shawn’s smile had been broad before but it was nothing compared to what he got in response to his last statement. The best word Carlton could find to describe it was “incandescent.” “Thanks, man.”

“For what?” Carlton asked. “I’m just saying what I think.”

“Then...maybe I’m thanking you for thinking it.”

Carlton shook his head. “They sure grow ‘em weird in Anaheim.”

Shawn cut his eyes at him, smirking. “Oh, Carly, you have no idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shawn laughed and waved his head, as if dismissing the question. “Never mind, it’s nothing. But I do have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“If you didn’t really wanna drink or party, what were you doing at the frat house to begin with?”

Carlton rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. My roommate talked me into it, mostly because he needed some “alone time” at the apartment.”

“Ah.” Shawn’s voice was low, husky. “A foxy lady, huh?”

He laughed. “No, not Rodney.”

Shawn looked confused. “Guy?”

“Project,” Carlton supplied.

Shawn’s look of confusion only deepened, lines crinkling around his eyes. “Okay, what kind of project would he need “alone time” with? I’m thinking bad, bad thoughts here.”

Once again, Carlton found himself amused. “Not like _that_. He wanted some peace and quiet so he could work and apparently the sound of me _breathing_ distracted him too much. So I offered to go out for a few hours.”

“No offense but he sounds like a nutcase,” Shawn told him.

“He’s fine, most of the time,” Carlton said. “But he’s a little stressed right now. It’s too close to the end of the semester for his taste.”

“Not for me!” Shawn declared, throwing his arms out wide. Carlton had to sidestep in order to keep from getting smacked. “I cannot wait until summer is here!”

“Ready to go home?”

“Ready for school to be O-V-E-R,” Shawn corrected. 

Reminded of the reason he was out of the house in the first place, Carlton checked his watch. “It’s been a couple hours. I can probably head back now.”

Shawn suddenly didn’t look so carefree. “What about me?”

Carlton gave him a blank look. “What about you? I’ll give you a ride back to campus, of course.”

“No, no, no, it’s not that simple,” Shawn told him, his bluish-gray eyes wide and entreating. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“What about your dorm room?”

“Same deal as you,” he explained. “Just that I promised I’d be out all night.”

“Let me guess...”

“Yep, foxy lady visitin’ the roomie.”

Carlton sighed and looked away from Shawn’s pitiful expression which he probably practiced in the mirror for just such an occasion. “Well, what was your original plan on where to stay tonight when you made that deal?”

“I figured I’d...I don’t know...” Shawn made a little dancing motion with his fingers. “Maybe hook up with someone and crash with them. But then you dragged me away from the party before I even had a chance to _talk_ to anyone...”

“Are you blaming me for this?” Carlton raised an eyebrow.

“Well, if the shoe fits, Carlton!”

He glanced down at the kid at beside him, whose face was torn between smiling winsomely and looking reprovingly at him for ruining his night. For a minute, Carlton wondered if it was the full moon that was making him do stupid things like... “You can crash at my place for a few hours.”

“Yeah!”

“While you call around and look for somewhere else to stay,” he added quickly. “If Rodney didn’t like me breathing, he’s certainly not going to like you...visiting.”

“I can be quiet, like a little church mouse,” Shawn swore. “You’ll never even remember I’m there!”

Carlton looked over the scrawny, grinning boy one more time. “I seriously doubt that.”


	3. Chapter 3

From the lot where Carlton parked his car, it was only a short walk across an edge of campus to reach the graduate housing. It was a little cluster of three- and four-floor apartment buildings with tree-lined sidewalks running in between. Once they entered one of the buildings, they climbed up three flights of stairs to reach the apartment he shared with Rodney.

“Ooh, the penthouse,” Shawn joked as he waited for Carlton to unlock the door. 

He didn’t want to admit it but Shawn was starting to get nervous again. He’d been nervous earlier, too, but that had been because he felt his cosmically-ordained luck had only been a cruel illusion; now he was nervous because he thought it was still holding --- only in a slightly more unusual package than he’d anticipated.

While he tended to not actually believe in fate or destiny or god except for when it best suited his purposes, even he had to admit that it was a mighty fine set of coincidences that had led him to Carlton.

And if destiny was going to pick him out the perfect bed partner, Shawn figured Carlton was as near to it as the universe could find on such short notice. He was certainly fine with the choice.

Carlton threw open the door and Shawn followed him inside, taking in the apartment’s details. It was modestly furnished -- sofa, table, TV in the living area and basic laminate table in the dining area -- with a few posters taped to the beige-colored walls. Carlton beckoned him farther into the living-slash-dining room and closed the door behind them.

“Rodney!” he called out, laying his keys on the cluttered dining table. “Is it safe to breathe in here again?”

“I was never against you breathing!” came a voice from the back of the apartment, growing louder as its owner headed in their direction. “...I was just against you breathing so _loudly_ ,” Rodney finished as he entered the living area.

Shawn wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but Rodney was a rather average-looking young man with light brown hair, skin far too pale for SoCal, and a strange clip to his words that he guessed came from being Canadian.

Rodney’s mouth was open as if he’d planned to say more but he snapped it shut at the sight of Shawn loitering in the living room with Carlton.

He drew up short. “Oh, I, uh, didn’t realize you brought company.”

“Oh, yeah.” Carlton turned and gestured toward him. “Rodney, Shawn. Shawn, my roommate Rodney.”

“What’s up?” Shawn asked by way of greeting, nodding.

“The sky, last I checked,” Rodney returned dryly, and Shawn could see why Carlton and his roommate got along.

Rodney was looking him over, eyes running up and down in a very sharp examination. Shawn didn’t know what he saw when he looked at him like that, but whatever it was made Rodney’s eyelids twitch as he finally turned back to his roommate. 

Carlton must’ve sensed something, too, because he glanced at Shawn. “Phone’s on the wall outside the kitchen,” he explained pointing toward the bright yellow contraption on the other side of the living area. “Go make your calls.”

For a minute Shawn thought about protesting since he didn’t have anyone he could call unless he wanted Gus to come pick him up which he absolutely didn’t. Instead, he just nodded and busied himself calling fake friends who lived at fake numbers, most of his concentration dedicated to shamelessly eavesdropping on Carlton and Rodney.

“So, I guess you took my advice then?” Rodney murmured as soon as he thought Shawn was occupied. “Have fun at the party?”

“It was okay,” he answered. “Didn’t stay very long.”

“Is that where you met...?” 

“Shawn? Yeah.”

“What did you do after you two left the party?”

“Dinner. The beach, for awhile.”

“Oh, I see...”

Shawn decided it was time to stop talking to his imaginary friends on the phone, so he sidled back to Carlton’s side. “Looks like you’ve got me for the duration, Carly,” he announced as he reached him, close enough for his shoulder to brush against Carlton’s arm. “Unless you think Rodney will mind me sleeping over?”

Before Carlton could reply, Rodney did. “What, me? Oh, no, of course, no, that’s fine. I mean -- well, it’s only fair, right?” He pointed back toward the bedrooms. “I’m just gonna go, grab some stuff, head off to Galina’s for awhile.”

“Galina’s?” Shawn asked as Rodney disappeared down the hall. 

“His project partner,” Carlton explained absently. “She lives over in one of the other apartment buildings, but...”

Rodney came back down the hall with a backpack slung over one shoulder. “Guess I’m off, then.”

“You don’t really have to...” Carlton began again, watching dazedly as his roommate grabbed the other set of keys from the dining table.

“No, it’s fine!” Rodney assured him, tucking the keys into his pocket. “I mean, you did the same thing for me, after all.” He nodded to Shawn. “Uh, nice to meet you, Shawn.”

“Yeah, you, too, Rodney,” Shawn said with a little wave.

Just before he stepped into the hallway, he shot a quick grin in Carlton’s direction, “Have fun, you two.”

And, like that, he was gone and silence rattled through the apartment.

“That was cool of him,” Shawn declared as he sank down onto the sofa. 

“Yeah, but he didn’t have to leave,” Carlton said, coming over to the sofa as well. “I mean, it’s not like we need “alone time” or someth...”

Shawn heard him trail off and worked hard to school his expression. It had been instantly apparent to the roommate what could be happening between them, which was why he’d taken off. Shawn had first started calculating his chances when Carlton had pulled him out of the party and been convinced of them by the time they’d reached the apartment.

Apparently, those same things were just becoming clear to Carlton himself.

The color was rising in his face and Shawn found it immensely appealing -- not to mention, relieving, that he wasn’t the only one a little off-kilter. 

“Oh.” It was Carlton’s turn to laugh nervously. “When I told him...he must’ve thought...well, you know...”

“What? That we’d been on a _date_?”

“Exactly,” Carlton nodded. Eyeing the way that Shawn was sprawled on most of the couch, he gingerly perched on its far end.

“You bring home a lot of boys, Carly?” he teased.

“No!” he said emphatically. “Nothing like that.”

Shawn’s eyebrows rose in speculation. “A lot of girls?”

“No,” he said again, though not quite as emphatically. “I came here to get an education, not get laid at every turn.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Shawn said. “Although that is why I’m out tonight.”

“Something else I ruined for you, huh?” Carlton snorted. “There’s a long list now.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shawn asked breezily. “I think you might actually be able to _help_ me with this one.”

Carlton looked at him askance, startled. “Yeah? How?”

It was his chance; Shawn could feel it in the rush of adrenaline that suddenly hit his veins. He’d been deciding all night, weighing, figuring. He didn’t think his instincts were off, didn’t think he’d have to worry about good, upstanding Carlton beating the shit out of him even if he did turn out to be wrong about the vibes they’d been exchanging.

But he didn’t think he was. Wrong, that is. Shawn didn’t think he was wrong in thinking that he was exactly the kind that Carlton brought home -- or at least the type he should be bringing home. Rodney’s easy acceptance of events had given him the last bit of proof he needed.

Ignoring his sweaty palms and jittery insides, Shawn slid his way down the couch until he was sitting almost on top of Carlton, denim-covered hip to denim-covered hip. Carlton didn’t say anything but watched him incredulously, his blue eyes demanding the explanation that his mouth didn’t ask for.

It was ironic because it was his mouth that got the explanation in the end, in the form of Shawn’s nervous, wind-chapped lips pressing against it. Shawn waited a heartbeat and, when Carlton didn’t shove him away, burst into action, scrambling up on the couch until his whole body was leaning into Carlton’s. He had enough experience with this, with both sexes, that he could ignore his nerves and fall into it, could be on the offensive confidently, hands reaching and grabbing for Carlton’s head to hold him in the kiss, fingers running through dark hair, mouth insistent.

He was tentative, at first, hesitant, but Carlton wasn’t immune to Shawn’s ministrations. His mouth pushed back against Shawn’s and Shawn felt hands tighten in the trailing tails of his flannel shirt. But just as Shawn was sure he’d done everything right, Carlton’s hands were pushing him away, not meanly, but firmly, until there was room enough to breath between them.

“I, uh, don’t think I can help you with this one,” Carlton said, voice hushed. “Sorry.”

“I think you were doing a pretty good job ‘til a minute ago,” Shawn countered, unable to mask the needy whine in his voice.

“Yeah, well...I wasn’t thinking,” he told him.

“Go back to doing that then,” Shawn advised, trying to loosen Carlton’s hold that kept him at arm’s length.

“This isn’t what I had in mind, you know, when I offered you a place to stay!” Carlton said, his hold still strong as he pushed Shawn far enough away that he could wriggle from under him and rise to his feet.

“I know and it’s nice that you’re such a nice guy,” Shawn told him, also jumping up from the couch. Carlton was agitated, pacing in the few steps it took him to cover the length of the couch. “But this _is_ what I had in mind when I asked for a place to sleep. I was kinda thinking the “with you” was implied.”

“Shawn...”

“Look, okay?” Shawn was in his face, standing toe-to-toe; it suddenly reminded Shawn how short and wimpy he was but he pressed on, hoping surprise would continue to give him the advantage. Now that he’d actually done it -- kissed Carlton -- and felt him return it, he wasn’t backing down. “What’s the big deal? Do you not do guys or something? Because you were definitely liking it a minute ago!”

“No, it’s not that exactly, but...we can’t do this.” Carlton took Shawn by the shoulders and held him away from him, fingers deliberately wrapping around Shawn’s thin arms. 

“I don’t see why we can’t,” Shawn fired back, still way too whiny for his taste but his frustration was reaching peak levels. He couldn’t quite understand Carlton’s problem: he obviously liked him and he obviously didn’t seem to mind making out with him and they were alone, so couldn’t he just give in? 

This, Shawn decided in that moment, was why girls preferred bad boys. Good boys had way too many inhibitions.

“We just...” Carlton shook his head and stepped away. “It’s been a long day, probably for both of us. I think we should just...go to sleep and forget about this.”

“Well, I don’t want to!” Shawn crossed his arms and glared petulantly.

Carlton softened, the steely mask slipping a little. “You can have the bed tonight, I’ll take the couch. Just let me grab some blankets and stuff.”

Shawn watched his back as he headed down the short hall and, as he watched Carlton duck into one of the bedrooms, inspiration struck.

Steeling down the hall in the stealthy way his dad had taught him, Shawn dumped his shoes in the living room and crept through the open door. Carlton’s back was to him, reaching up into a small closet for what Shawn assumed was “blankets and stuff.”

Going on instinct, Shawn just plunged in -- he took hold of Carlton’s arm and pulled until the startled young man spun around to face him and then Shawn ruthlessly abused that advantage. As they both hit the neatly-made bed in a tangle of arms, legs and mouths, Shawn couldn’t help but grin into the sloppy kisses he was landing on Carlton.

He was pretty sure he’d just won the battle and the war.

**

Like with so many of the things that had happened that night, Carlton wasn’t quite sure how he ended up in bed with a very enthusiastic Shawn kissing him like it was going out of style except that one minute he’d been pulling spare blankets from the closet and then the next he was flat on his back.

Even as he tried to resist, to break away, Carlton found feel himself losing the battle. Shawn was pushy, enthusiastic and very tempting -- and it had been a long, _long_ time since he’d last gotten laid. But it was more than that, too, and that was what made it difficult to give in or pull out.

He genuinely liked Shawn, something he’d been surprised to realize over the course of the evening. He was funny, a little dopey, but honest and bright and ecstatic about everything around him and smart and fun, just like he’d promised at the start. It’d been a long time since Carlton had found anyone as endearing as he found Shawn.

That was part of the reason that he was having trouble with the 'having sex' part. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to -- it wasn’t like he hadn’t been checking out the kid’s ass hours and hours earlier, back before he’d even realized he was using a fake ID -- but that as soon as there were some kind of feelings involved that were deeper or purer than rampant lust, things inevitably got complicated.

Carlton didn’t like complicated. It was why he hated feelings and generally didn’t bother with them. They were just too much trouble.

It was too bad he couldn’t turn them off as easily and readily as he dismissed them.

For all the intellectual reasons he wanted to stay as far away from Shawn as possible, the rest of him just wasn’t listening. Instead of pushing Shawn off of him like he knew he should, Carlton was suddenly turning them both over in the bed until he was the one on top, towering over the kid as he finally dragged his lips away to catch his breath. 

“You seem to be doing pretty well, now, Carly,” Shawn panted through wet, bruised lips, very smug and satisfied. 

Carlton couldn’t think of anything appropriately snappy. “Are you sure about this?” he finally asked, his voice gruff and hoarse.

Carlton could feel a shiver ripple through Shawn’s body. “Oh, yeah, hell yeah, sure, sure, very sure, way past sure!” 

He almost laughed at Shawn’s enthusiastic reply. “Well, as long as you’re sure...”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me again, why don’t ya?” Shawn wheedled, his grabby hands tugging Carlton’s shirt and pulling him down. Finally he gave in and did just that, doing a little grabbing on his own. He shifted them again so that they were side by side and he could more easily yank off Shawn’s flannel shirt.

Carlton tossed the ugly flannel away as soon as he’d pulled it from him; just as he was reaching for the hem of the Whitesnake T-shirt, Shawn wriggled around until he was sitting up and shucked it in one, long motion. His hair was in wild disarray but Carlton didn’t think it hurt the overall image of him sitting there, propped against his pillows, only half-dressed.

“You could stand to lose a few layers, too,” Shawn murmured as he reached for Carlton, pushing up the shirt to reveal inch after inch of skin. Carlton helped by shrugging out of it and tossing it aside. 

After Carlton showed a little of the finesse that came with being a quarter-century old and introducing Shawn to the erogenous zone that was his nipples, his hands began to wander down over the pale skin of Shawn’s stomach to the waistband of his faded jeans. He was working on the button and fly when he noticed that Shawn had went still beneath him.

“Something wrong?” he asked as his hands slowed, spooked by the boy’s unnatural stillness. 

“No, no, everything’s fine,” he said but Carlton could hear the tinny echo of panic in his voice. It took him a moment but enough blood rushed back up to his head that he managed to put two and two together and the realization slammed into him. 

This was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with.

“You have done this before, haven’t you?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Um, yeah, of course. Depending on what you mean by ‘this,’” Shawn told him.

“I mean, this. This! Sex. With a man,” he snapped back, no real heat behind his lust-fueled frustration.

Shawn licked his lips nervously and Carlton had to blink in order to keep his mind on the conversation at hand. “Then, maybe not.”

Carlton groaned and rolled off of Shawn, landing face-first against his bed pillows.

“What? Hey, no, why are we stopping?” Shawn demanded to know, shifting to face him. He propped himself up on his elbow and watched Carlton intently; he knew because he could feel the kid’s eyeballs on the back of his head.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Carlton told him, as he moved again, mostly so he wouldn’t smother. He mirrored Shawn’s position, facing the kid straight-on with an accusing glare.

“So, what? Sex is like a job with you?” Shawn snorted. “There’s x amount of experience needed to qualify?”

“No, but I don’t make it a habit of taking nervous virgins to bed, either.” Carlton countered grouchily. “You should’ve said something earlier!”

“Why? So it would’ve been that much harder to get you to sleep with me? I don’t think so.” Shawn leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose, lips brushing just above Carlton’s cheek. “I’m not seeing the big deal here.”

“That’s half the problem,” Carlton whispered across his skin, unable to stop from trailing his lips across Shawn’s face, to his ear.

“It’s your own fault,” Shawn said -- well, tried to say. It came out more like a breathy hiss as Carlton’s teeth latched on to his earlobe. “I had it all figured out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeaaaaaaaaaah.” Definitely a hiss and definitely a sound of pleasure. “There I was, right where I needed to be to get laid. D’ya know how easy it would’ve been to find someone to screw me at that party? Like candy from a baby!”

This time, it was Carlton who shuddered. “Except you’d be the baby in this scenario.”

Shawn pulled back a little to stare at him. “Do we really need all this talking? I didn’t think there’d be this much talking once I actually got someone in bed.”

“Shawn...”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Shawn pushed forward and sealed his mouth shut with his, cutting off Carlton’s next admonishment. “I just wanna get laid, Carly,” he explained when they came apart for air as he scrambled up on his hands and knees, straddling Carlton, pinning him flat on his back. “No talking, no questions and definitely no worrying about the poor little virgin, alright?”

If Shawn had said a million other things then Carlton might’ve been able to shut the whole embarrassing thing down and walk away without ever touching him again, without ever regretting it. But it was there again, in his voice, in his face -- that underlying seriousness, that earnestness he’d heard on the beach. Something about it turned the smart parts of his brain into mush and made him want to obey Shawn, give into the smile and the cheesy lines and childish charm.

And, at that moment, Carlton couldn’t remember ever wanting someone more.

His hands drifted up Shawn’s denim-clad legs and back to the fly of his jeans. “Let me know if you need me to slow down.”

Shawn grinned a filthy, flirty smile that a virgin shouldn’t even have been capable of. “Right back at ya, Carly.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Shawn was dragged away from sleep by the sound of someone rummaging in dresser drawers, banging them open and shut with little regard to his state of slumber. At first, he didn’t remember where he was and the complaint that Henry should at least wait until he was awake for the random drug searches was on the tip of his tongue as he rolled over to face the noise-maker.

Instead of his father ransacking his drawers, Shawn found himself watching Carlton, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, pulling clothes from one of the drawers of the dresser. He had accumulated a nice stack so far, including boxers, jeans, and a faded T-shirt. He was just adding a pair of white socks to the pile when Shawn stretched and let out a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

Carlton glanced over at him. "I see you're finally awake. I was beginning to think that you were dead."

"No, not dead," Shawn mumbled, struggling to sit up. "Not quite. Close." When he realized that he was naked under the sheet, he tucked it closer around him as he scooted to sit on the edge of the bed.

Carlton sat down next to him, still clad in nothing but his towel. Shawn liked that look on him. "You want to take a shower? I could probably find something to lend you."

"Ha!' Shawn was still sleepy-eyed but his mind was catching up. "I don't think so. You're, like, a foot taller than me. I'm cool."

"And you'll stink 'til then," Carlton pointed out laughingly.

Shawn waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a sexy, seductive way. "You better like 'em stinky then."

Carlton grinned at that and Shawn smiled back at him. "I guess I didn't imagine it. You really are insane."

Shawn took that as a compliment -- and an invitation. He leaned into Carlton and draped an arm over his damp, naked shoulders. "Witty, charming, fun -- I promised, I delivered!"

"Actually you promised me you'd be as quiet as a church mouse, if I remember correctly," Carlton reminded him.

Shawn decided he was doing good at this seductive thing. He leaned in more, trailing a few kisses down the nearest part of Carlton he could reach -- in this case, his collarbone. "If you want me quiet, Carly, you know how to shut me up."

As good as Shawn thought he was getting at this whole sex thing -- he was a fast learner, after all -- he was willing to acknowledge that Carlton was definitely the master. He had Shawn on his back and stretched across the bed in less than three seconds without ever losing his towel. Shawn was impressed -- or he would be if he hadn't been too busy moaning.

All in all, Shawn was calling his mission a success. Although he hadn't gotten to drink and the evening hadn't involved a cute, blonde girl with loose morals, Carlton definitely rated above the other stuff, especially when the fantastic sex was factored in.

Shawn was hoping that Carlton would opt for a little early-morning-after-last-night sex but Carlton eventually managed to pry Shawn off of him and sit up. "We keep that up and I'll have to take another shower."

"Ooh, that could be kinky, sex in the shower," Shawn contemplated, still draped languidly over the bed pillows. 

"You're awfully horny for a kid who was a virgin ten hours ago," Carlton pointed out.

He scoffed. "That's probably why I'm so horny! I didn't know what I was missing." He sat up a little and tried that "come hither" look he'd heard about. "Come on, Carlton, you know you want to."

"Be that as it may, I have stuff to do today and staying in bed isn't on the list," he said, standing up again.

"Well it should be!" Shawn declared, throwing himself back against the pillows dramatically. 

Carlton snorted and grabbed his pile of clothes. "I'm going to get dressed," he said, ducking into the hall and into the bathroom which Shawn could see directly across from the bedroom.

"There's no need to leave on my account," he called back after him. "Feel free to get dressed in here!"

Shawn didn't hear Carlton's response as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He lingered a moment longer before he took the opportunity to search for his own clothes that littered the bedroom floor. His boxers were close -- wadded up right under the edge of the bed -- but his T-shirt had somehow ended up clear across the room. He was in his jeans and was pulling his shirt back on when Carlton emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed.

"I would've been a gentleman," Shawn told him, mock-seriously. "I would've turned my head and covered my eyes and everything."

"Don't you ever shut your mouth?" Carlton asked, though his tone was laconic, teasing. 

"Only when it's more pleasantly occupied," Shawn quipped, smoothing down the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

"Tempting," Carlton admitted with that same gravelly voice Shawn remembered from last night, his blue eyes sparking like fire. "But I do have things to do today. And you aren't on the list."

"So I'm like a surprise?"

"Shawn," he snorted, shaking his head. "We've already slept the morning away. It's almost one o'clock as it is."

Shawn had only been half-listening to Carlton as he searched for his flannel shirt but at the words "one o'clock," his head shot up. "What did you say?"

"That we'd already wasted the morning?" 

"No, no, the part about it being one o'clock!"

"It's ten 'til one," Carlton said after glancing at the blinking digital clock on his nightstand. "What about it?"

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." Shawn let out a litany of them as he scurried in search of his flannel which didn't seem to be anywhere. If he wasn't in the parking lot to meet Gus within a few minutes of the schedule, they wouldn't get to Santa Barbara in time for him to beat his parents back to the house. The thought of Henry's wrath if he found out about even one part of this little trip dampened the smug "mission accomplished" glow that Shawn had had all morning. "Oh god, oh god."

"What's wrong?" Carlton asked sharply, obviously alarmed by Shawn's alarm. 

"I have to get out of here! Now!" Shawn gave up on the flannel; it would just have to be collateral damage to his mission. He slid past a confused Carlton and grabbed his shoes from the living room floor. 

"Weren't you the one not wanting to get out of bed ten minutes ago?" Carlton asked.

"That was before I knew it was ONE O'CLOCK," he explained as he tried to hop into his shoes. Nerves made him clumsy, though, and he almost fell. Admitting defeat, he sat down on the sofa and tried again.

"I'm assuming you have some big date?" Carlton asked dryly, arms crossed as he watched Shawn shove his feet into his shoes.

"Not a date, no, no, I have a seriously important deadline I have to meet," Shawn told him as he tied off the second set of laces. "Very important, life-and-death important."

"I got that the first time, Shawn," Carlton replied, looking very confused. He sighed. "Do you need a ride or anything?"

Shawn actually paused to smile at the graduate student. "Aww, that's sweet," he told him, unable to resist planting another messy kiss on Carlton. "But no. My ride is waiting for me, actually, that's why I've got to go!"

"Well, I should be done with everything about six o'clock tonight," he said. "I can't promise you booze but..."

This was what Shawn hadn't thought about in all his grand scheming. "Um, er, wow, I, Carlton, really, I..."

"A yes, no or maybe will suffice," Carlton said, a little defensively. "You don't even have to form a full sentence."

"I, I, that sounds great, Carly," Shawn said weakly.

"Fine, I'll meet you--"

"But I can't," he finished in a rush. "I would but I won't be here. In fact, I shouldn't be here now. Gotta go, bye!" 

Carlton didn't let him flit away, though. He grabbed him by one arm, holding him in place. "What are you talking about? What's up with you?"

"I'd really love to explain but I don't have the time," he whined, trying to pull his arm free. "I _really_ need to go!"

"No." Carlton's voice was hard and steely and Shawn thought it would be a great cop voice one day. "Not until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you!"

Shawn wanted to explain, he did. He hadn't been expecting it the day before but he actually liked Carlton, liked this big-eared, good-doing guy who'd stolen his fake ID and dragged him around town and had bought him dinner and brought him home with him and took his virginity and gave him the first and best blowjob of his life. And, if he hadn't been lying about everything except that, Shawn would've loved to meet up with him again, and possibly again and again. 

But he was already running late and it would screw both himself and Gus if Henry caught them. He couldn't risk it this close to summer, this close to graduation, especially not for Gus who was his best friend, after all, and hadn't done anything wrong but help Shawn like he always did.

"Carlton!"

"I've got the time if you do," Carlton told him. The hand on his arm tightened and Carlton shook him a little as if to emphasize the implied threat in his words.

It was after one now and Shawn still had to find the right parking lot on a campus with more lots than he cared to count and that would waste that much more time. The thought of time flying away made desperation bloom all through him, bitter and frantic and biting and Shawn was desperate to get away -- so desperate, in fact, that he opted for the truth.

"Okay, fine, look!" Shawn was still wiggling, still trying to get loose. "Look, I kinda lied to you, well you kinda inferred the wrong thing and I just went with it and the fact is that I'm not a student here, I'm not even a student anywhere except high school but not around here and if I don't get out of _here_ now, I won't make it back home before my dad does and he will _kill_ me when he finds out that I went 200 miles just to get drunk and get laid."

Carlton's hold on his arm weakened as shock stole across his face. "What?" he echoed faintly.

Shawn could've probably gotten free if he'd tried but he was too caught up in his confession to notice. Now that he started, he couldn't stop the words spewing from his mouth. "I'm sorry but you have been so nice and cool and, god, I wish I could meet up again but I will be far, far away from here soon, hopefully not being killed by my dad."

"You're still in high school?" Carlton's voice was suddenly squeaky, like his voice box was rusty from disuse. 

"Senior," Shawn admitted quietly as Carlton's hand dropped its hold on his arm. "I'm, uh, not even eighteen yet. Early starter."

Carlton was still staring at him in wide-eyed shock and something about his face made guilt roil in Shawn's stomach. He looked -- hurt, upset and Shawn hated himself for it, hated that his simple plan had snowballed into this messy, complicated thing.

Fate was such a bitch.

"Anyway..." Shawn couldn't take it anymore and he couldn't think of anything else to say and his time was ticking away. "I'll see ya around..."

He didn't wait for Carlton to say anything else. Shawn cast one last lingering look at him and bolted for the front door, clearing the steps two at a time as he raced out of the building.

Shawn had just reached the tree-lined sidewalk that circled the apartments when he heard the screech of an unused window being opened and Carlton's voice calling after him. "Get back here! I think you owe me a little more explanation that that!"

He glanced back at the sound of Carlton's voice, his feet still moving forward, right into a collision with another body -- Rodney. 

"Sorry!" he said, as he just shouldered past him.

"Uh, Shawn, right?" Rodney said, trying to again his balance.

"It was nice to meet you, Rodney!" he yelled without slowing. He kept on running, determinedly ignoring the sound of raised voices -- Carlton's and Rodney's -- as he spun around a corner and left the apartments far behind him. Shawn didn't slow until he was halfway across campus and searching for the right parking lot. He finally found it in the last place he looked and Shawn almost fainted in relief when he saw Gus's Ford waiting for him there.

Shawn didn't even slow as he threw himself into the car. "Go, go, go!" he ordered. "We're twenty-five minutes behind schedule!"

"And whose fault is that?" Gus shot back, flooring it and screeching his way out of the parking lot.

"Mine, all mine," Shawn admitted, panting to catch his breath. 

Gus looked at him strangely but didn't question him -- for which Shawn was grateful. Before long, they were barreling up the coast with the windows down and radio blaring.

"So?" Gus finally asked, lowering the radio volume. "How did your plan go?"

"Not now, Gus," Shawn told him, closing his eyes and leaning back into the seat. "Later."

"Sure, later," Gus agreed, sympathy in his voice. He cranked up the radio volume again.

Shawn only opened his eyes once before they reached Santa Barbara and that was to glare at the radio for daring to play that stupid R.E.M. song that he'd never liked in the first place.

**

By the time he and Rodney had stopped yelling incoherently at each other through the open window and his roommate made the journey up the stairs to their apartment, Carlton was sitting on the sofa with his head buried in his hands trying to figure out how he'd ever been stupid enough to do any of the things he'd done last night.

"Well, that wasn't exactly the scene I was expecting," Rodney admitted as he stepped into the living room through the front door which Shawn had left open on his mad dash out. He shot the door a confused look but didn't say anything about it as he closed it behind him. When he noticed Carlton's dejected position, he frowned. "It couldn't have been that bad if he's just leaving _now_."

Carlton looked up long enough to glare at him. 

"What? I'm just saying! If it was that bad, he'd have fled last night!" When Carlton didn't bother answering, Rodney's frowned deepened and he plopped down next to him on the couch. "What's wrong with you? I was expecting the seldom seen '"I had sex last night" Carlton who is oh-so-much easier to deal with."

"I'm going to hell, Rodney," Carlton told him, face still in his hands. He'd suddenly developed the kind of pounding in the back of his head that he usually got from drinking too much but the only thing he'd overindulged in lately was Shawn -- and stupidity.

"There's no such place as hell," Rodney replied automatically. "But what happened to get your stupid guilt thing going this time?"

"There is a hell and I am going there, probably in a hand basket," Carlton argued, uncovering his face, again to glare. He groaned and sat back against the couch. "Oh, Jesus, I cannot believe this!"

"What? What?" Rodney wanted to know, leaning in closer in anticipation. His wide blue eyes were fascinated, watching him as he waited for an answer. "What happened? Something to do with that kid, right? Right?"

"Rodney, could you tone down your prurient curiosity, just a little please? This is my life here!"

"It depends entirely on what prurient information you have to share!"

Carlton glanced over at him and opened his mouth as if to speak. The words wouldn't come to him, not to explain the damned idiot he'd made of himself and the laws -- LAWS -- he'd broke the night before. "I can't even say it."

Rodney's expression was comical in its frustration. "Oh, for the love of...well, you didn't kill him, I saw him leave, so nothing can be as bad as you're making out so just tell me!"

"I slept with him, alright?!" Carlton finally ground out.

"And? So? Therefore?" Rodney scoffed, waving his hand in a "give me more" motion. "What, are we revisiting the gay sex guilt? I thought you were past that already! In fact, I distinctly remember us having that conversation last semester."

"Did he look young to you, Rodney?" Carlton asked pointedly.

"Shawn, you mean.? Well, yeah. A little. Freshman, right?"

Carlton let out an angry bark of laughter. "No, senior, actually."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought."

"A senior in _high school_ , Rodney," Carlton continued, voice hard. "A _senior_ in _high school_ , now do you see?"

"I can see why I thought he looked like jailbait," he admitted. "But it's not like he's the first and only high school kid to sneak into a college party."

"No, he didn't just look like jailbait, he _is_ jailbait," he snapped. "He's only 17!"

"Only 17?" Rodney echoed. "And you slept with him anyway?"

"I didn't know until this morning!"

"So that was the scene I walked in on, huh?" Rodney asked. 

"Yes." Carlton closed his eyes and groaned. "Oh, I am _so_ going to hell."

"Oh, blah, blah, no you're not!" Rodney told him. "There's not even---"

"I'm over 21 years of age and I slept with a minor more than three years my junior," Carlton cut in. "That's statutory rape, Rodney!"

"No need to get dramatic, Lassiter," Rodney said sharply. "I don't think the kid was running to the police station to turn you in!"

"That's not the point!" Carlton raked an hand through his hair in aggravation. "I cannot believe I was so stupid. I could look at him and tell he was too damn young."

Rodney sighed and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Look, you made a mistake. Nothing can be done about it now but for you to get over it."

"Easier said than done."

"Does that mean I shouldn't have said it?" Rodney asked snarkily. "And, truthfully, I think you're way too worked up about this. The kid was willing and he was cute in a scruffy, floppy-haired way, so this is not the end of the world!"

Carlton snorted but he didn't bother to reply. Rodney was staunchly, rigidly atheist; he couldn't possibly understand what it was like to live in Carlton's Irish Catholic body with his strong moral center and know what he'd done. He'd broken _the law_ and while that might not have mattered to Rodney, it mattered to Carlton and somehow the line, no matter how irrelevant in reality, between sex with a 17-year-old and an 18-year-old existed in the eyes of the law and that made all the difference in the world.

"He was a virgin, Rodney."

Rodney's eyes widened. "What?"

Carlton nodded, feeling the damnation he deserved crashing down on him with each word. And while Rodney wasn't his usual confessor, it would have to do for this. "He told me...when we started, I asked and..."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Rodney cleared his throat nervously. "I don't mean to sound, well, inappropriate, but that's..."

"Even worse?"

"...kind of hot," Rodney finished.

"Rodney!" Carlton glared at him, lip curling in disgusted exasperation. 

"Like you didn't find it incredibly hot when he told you!" Rodney snapped defensively. "Everyone thinks it's hot to sleep with a virgin!" 

"Oh, god, I'm going to hell."

"Oh, no, not this again," Rodney said in the same exasperated tone. He stood up and grabbed Carlton by the arm. "What you need is to do something to get your mind off of this."

"I doubt that very much," Carlton argued, pulling away.

"Well, you're wrong," Rodney told him. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at him balefully. "You're obviously mentally impaired at the moment, so just listen to your pal Rodney this once, hmm?"

"And what is it that you want me to do?"

"I want you to go grab your shoes and come with me to Galina's," Rodney explained impatiently. "We'll watch some tapes, drink some of that hooch she always has around and we'll get you very, very drunk until you can't even think straight, let alone think about your little one-night boytoy."

"Shawn."

"See? If you can remember that, you're too sober!" Rodney waved toward the bedrooms. "Shoes, now, go! I'll call Galina and tell her to expect us."

"Didn't she just get rid of you?" Carlton pointed out.

Rodney was already picking up the phone. "Lucky for you, she loves me."

"Yeah, right."

"Go!" Rodney told him again, pointing with his elbow to Carlton's bedroom. 

Carlton sighed but did as he was told, wearily rising to his feet. As he ambled into his bedroom, he could hear Rodney on the phone with Galina, conferring in low tones. He blocked out what was probably the sound of his roommate spilling the dirt to his friend and glanced around his room.

Unlike his roommate, Carlton was fairly neat for a single male graduate student and years of habit had him automatically making his bed every morning. However, that morning his bed had been inhabited when he'd woken up and there'd been no chance for it. The lightweight comforter was sliding off the foot of the bed, and the sheets were all tangled, pillows piled against the headboard. It was a chaotic picture, one that fit his current state of mind. 

With vicious efficiency, he stripped the bed of its sheets and tossed them into his laundry bag with a vow that he'd take them down to the Laundromat as soon as possible. Then he focused on locating his shoes which he'd kick off rather precipitously the night before. Carlton ended up on his knees, digging his sneakers out from beneath the bed -- which was how he found the well-washed flannel shirt that had come to rest in the same place.

He knew immediately that it wasn't his; he hadn't been that slight since junior high school. He pulled himself up from the floor and sat on the bed, shoes forgotten next to him on the bare mattress. He stared at the soft material bunched in his hands for a moment before he grimly chucked it into the pile with the sheets.

As it sailed across the room, Rodney walked in. 

"Moved on to abusing clothes, have we?" he asked archly as he watched it land on the pile of laundry. "Whatever makes you feel better, I guess."

"Did you want something?" Carlton asked, pulling on his shoes.

"I talked to Galina, she's willing to entertain us for the day," he informed him. "She asked if we wanted something a little, er, less legal than alcohol but I explained to her that you'd already broken your share of laws today."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Yes," Rodney said without remorse. "I thought it was pretty clever of me, actually."

"I'm glad one of us did," Carlton said sourly as he tied his shoelaces. "And I really have some stuff I have to do today, Rodney. I can't spend the day in a drunken stupor with you and Galina."

"And you think your little funk won't be at least as unproductive?" Rodney snorted. "Oh, please. I let you go to the library and you may very well turn yourself over to the authorities or go to church to do Hail Marys or something."

"You don't just 'do' Hail Marys," he pointed out.

"Ack!" Rodney raised a hand to hush him. "Don't know, don't care! I don't want to hear about the insidious indoctrination techniques used on you by your parents. Let's go. Galina and her vodka are waiting."

Carlton sighed but nodded and rose to his feet. Maybe Rodney was right and a good, long drunk was exactly what he needed. It wasn't like it could make things any worse.

Tomorrow, he would wake up, do some laundry, and get back on his schedule for thesis work and get back to normal. Then, he would work on forgetting that he'd ever made such a stupid, terrible mistake -- until he could pretend that it had never, ever happened.


	5. Chapter 5

It had taken Shawn several days' worth of demands from Gus before he'd shared anything about the relative success of his mission that weekend. Part of his reluctance was because it stayed too fresh in his mind; he couldn't shake that sick feeling he'd felt when he'd left or the strange, butterfly-like feeling he got in his stomach whenever some stray memory of Carlton lighted against his active brain, so vivid it felt real again.

There was also the fact that Shawn was completely disillusioned about the losing-his-virginity thing. It wasn't that sex hadn't been fun because it had but really it wasn't like he was materially changed -- unless he counted how bad he still felt when he thought about Carlton. In the back of his mind he knew he was thinking thoughts that made him sound like one of the women out of his mother's corny romance novels but it didn't mean that they weren't sincere. Horribly embarrassing, yes, but sincere nonetheless. 

The whole nasty truth finally came out about a week later when Gus came by to spend the day hanging out with Shawn. The surprising thing was that Henry had agreed even though Shawn hadn't done but a handful of chores for the week and was still living under the cloud of some prank he'd pulled the week before the trip to UC Irvine.

As always, Gus came straight back to Shawn's room when he got there. When they were children, they'd spent most of their time together outside but ever since they'd hit sixteen, they split their time between closeting themselves in Shawn's bedroom or getting the hell out of the house as quickly possible.

"Shawn, you have got to snap out of this!" Gus said as soon as he entered the dimly lit bedroom. Even though it was a bright, SoCal day Shawn has his blinds closed and the only real source of light was a lava lamp.

Shawn was lounging like usual, sitting on the floor with his back against the base of his bed. He had a guitar -- a second-hand gift from his cousin Johnny -- in his hands. At the sound of Gus's indignant declaration, he glanced up. "Out of what?"

Gus looked around the room in obvious annoyance and marched over to the window above the bed. He pulled on the shade almost angrily and it replied by rolling up with a snap, flooding the room with natural light. 

"Ow, ow, my eyes!" Shawn complained as he squinted and raised an hand to shield his eyes. "What the hell?"

"That's what I'm talking about," Gus told him as he plopped down on a nearby beanbag chair. He was giving Shawn the serious look which meant lots of questions were coming. "This, Shawn, is this thing you've been in since the trip."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shawn told him, looking back down at his fingers strumming the guitar.

"You've been acting weird, Shawn," Gus informed him. "And it's not just me that's noticed. The only reason I was allowed to come over here is that your mom is worried about you."

"Weird like how?" Shawn wanted to know.

"I don't know, weird. Quiet, moody, sitting in the dark like some creepy serial killer," Gus said, frowning at him with more worry than Shawn felt his behavior deserved. "It's like you're depressed or something."

"I am not depressed," Shawn assured him. 

"Then why you sitting in the dark?" Gus challenged.

"I was admiring my lava lamp?"

"Try again."

"I'm practicing for a part in The Lost Boys sequel, gotta get that brooding, hair-band vampire thing down."

"Uh huh."

Shawn shot him a resentful glare from over the fret of his guitar. "Can't a guy just sit and be still once in a while?"

"Not you," was Gus's immediate reply. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong except for the fact that you're starting to sound like my _mom_ ," Shawn griped.

Gus just looked at him for a minute before he spoke. "Look, I know you're bummed because your big cosmic "get laid" plan didn't work but you've got to get over it."

"You think that's what wrong?" Shawn asked, almost disbelievingly. "You think I struck out and I'm moping?"

"Well, yeah," Gus said, leaving the _duh_ implied.

"Ha!" Shawn pointed at him with his guitar pick. "Shows how much you know. I totally didn't strike out!"

"Really?" Gus asked, obviously dubiously. "Then why didn't you want to tell me about it?"

"Because it's a little more complicated than I'd expected," he explained, waving around his pick for emphasis. "And I'm not sure how much you wanna hear."

"I wanna hear all of it," his friend told him emphatically. "Seriously, lay it on me!"

"I slept with a guy," Shawn admitted..

"I don't want to hear anymore," Gus immediately ordered, wincing. When he noticed that Shawn hadn't burst into laughter and started mocking him, he eyed his friend. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack or some other serious thing," he told him. "I lost my virginity to a guy."

"Does that really count?" Gus asked. "I mean, unless you...?"

Shawn raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Never mind, don't tell me."

He actually managed a few notes of Stairway to Heaven on the guitar before he answered. "And, yes, it counts, mostly because I say so."

"Okay, so mission accomplished," Gus pressed on. "What's the deal?"

"Nothing is the deal, Gus," Shawn told him. "You're the one with the 'deal,' or whatever."

Whenever they got engaged in one of these verbal battles, Shawn tended to win if only because he was less amiable and more stubborn than Gus. But when Gus really wanted to go for the conversational jugular, he had a secret weapon -- a placid, knowing look that irritated Shawn to no end because it clearly said, "I know what you're thinking and I will make you share it!"

Gus was serious because he was employing that look against him now.

"Ugh," Shawn sighed, rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine, fine. Just stop with the look!"

His friend was now watching him with a smug expression on his face.

"It's not really a deal," Shawn began, shifting to lay his guitar safely on his futon. "More of a thing, actually. A thinking kind of thing. I've had a lot to think about."

"What have you been thinking about?"

"Mostly? The guy."

"The guy?"

"You know," Shawn prompted. "The -- guy." When Gus still looked confused, he added, "The guy I lost my virginity to, come on, like this isn't hard enough!"

"Sorry, sorry," Gus apologized, trying not to wince again. "Okay, so...what about him?"

"Well, I kinda..." Shawn trailed off, embarrassed and uncomfortable as he searched for words to describe how he felt without sounding like a total girl. "I...like him."

"Like him? Like how?"

"Gus!" Shawn's exclamation was somewhere between laughter and screaming. "If you can't put together the pieces of this conversation and figure it out, then you are as dumb as Patrice Taylor says you are!"

"She only says that because you stole her underwear! You, Shawn!"

"Focus, Gus!" Shawn told him in exasperation. "This was your intervention for me. This conversation is about my issues, not yours."

"Oh, yeah," Gus said, leaning back against the beanbag chair. "Go on."

"Well, that's really mostly it," Shawn admitted lamely. "I've just been thinking about -- stuff. That night. Him. And other related things that I won't say in order to preserve your virgin ears."

"Like maybe you want to see him again or something?" Gus asked quietly, finally showing some of the perception that made him a great friend. 

"I wouldn't say no," he demurred, even as his stomach quaked with that butterfly feeling. "But it's not going to happen. He wasn't too happy when he found out I was only 17."

"Well, how old was he?"

"Twenty-five," Shawn admitted, curling up to brace for the inevitable reaction.

"Twenty-five?!?" Gus's shock was loud and ear-splitting. He paused, self-conscious of his volume. He continued in a lower voice. "Shawn, that's crazy!"

"I know!" Shawn nodded, agreeing. 

"Well, it's probably better that you can't see him," Gus admitted. "He's way too old for that."

"I know, I know!" Shawn repeated, regret creeping into voice.

Gus heard it and looked sharply down at his friend. "But you still want to?"

Shawn shrugged, embarrassed. As much as he'd wanted Gus's understanding, he didn't know how to handle the sympathy that came with it. 

"Shawn, man..." Gus shook his head. "Why do always make things hard?"

"It's a gift, I guess," he joked weakly.

"It's something and you've got it," his friend told him. 

"Too bad I can't trade it in for something better."

"I hear that."

Shawn reached for his guitar again and settled it in his lap. "Any requests?"

Gus raised an eyebrow and looked at the guitar suspiciously. "You still messing with that thing?"

"Yes!" Shawn said. "It's been helping me think. I've gotten really good!"

"Why don't I believe you when you say that?" Gus snorted. "Aren't you tone deaf?

"So they keep telling me," he admitted. "What do you want to hear?"

"Not you making noise on that," Gus stated, standing up. "Let's go do something outside. You've been holed up in here for week."

"I'm sorry that you can't understand the importance of solitude in serious contemplation," Shawn said, feigning hurt. "Come on, hum a few bars and I'll play along."

"No, thank you."

"Okay, how's this?" Shawn plucked at the guitar, coaxing a recognizable tune from the strings.

"Greensleeves, Shawn?" Gus shook his head. "That's it, we have to get out of here."

"It's a classic!" he argued but set aside the guitar once more and scrambled to his feet. "Okay, you win. Let's ride."

Gus grinned. "I heard that they've finally fixed the Mortal Kombat at the arcade."

"Oh really?" Shawn was grinning, too. "Cool! Man, I am not going to rest until I get Scorpion to morph into Ermac."

Gus gave him a challenging look, complete with raised eyebrows. "No way. I'm going to do it and it'll be with Sub-Zero."

"Pfft! I don't think so," Shawn disagreed as he grabbed his jar of quarters from the dresser. 

"I guess we'll see when we get there," Gus told him.

"I guess we will," Shawn agreed. 

As the two of the headed out of the Spencer house bickering over the relative coolness of fight-ending Fatalities, Shawn had to admit that after a week of keeping it all in, he felt better having told Gus what he had. It hadn't been much -- didn't want to shock his poor, little straight friend with too much detail -- but it had been enough to make the weird feelings subside, at least for awhile. It had lost its immediate quality and was all fading back into its proper place in his memories, into "last week" which would eventually become "last month" and so on. 

It wasn't until they dragged themselves back to Shawn's house for dinner after hours of hardcore video game action that he realized that he'd went almost all day without thinking about anything other than the games, their plans for graduations and his own secret mission to hook Gus up with Patrice to make up for the panty thing -- not one stray thought of Carlton to be found.

Shawn couldn't help but be relieved; he was tired of sounding Veronique pining for Gregory in _Wicked Desire_. He was ready to go back to being his usual charming, adorable but manly self.

**

Though Carlton had been looking forward to it all semester, he couldn't help but be a little nervous when he finally had to present himself at the Santa Barbara Police Department for the start of his ride along.

The last few weeks of the semester had passed in their usual frantic manner, made more so by the thoughts of Shawn that weighed on Carlton's mind. His thoughts weren't only centered around his own stupidity or guilt that he'd committed a serious crime; much of his headspace was dedicated to Shawn himself.

But Carlton worked hard to put it all in the past and concentrate on his 90-day observational ride along with the SBPD. It was a great opportunity and one that he didn't want to waste, not after Detective Fenich had arranged it for him, the latest in a long list of favors he'd done to help Carlton fulfill his dream of becoming a police detective.

When Carlton arrived at the station that first morning, Fenich was waiting for him.

"Good to see you again, son," Fenich greeted him warmly, offering his hand.

"Sir," Carlton said, returning the handshake.

"There's some paperwork we need you to fill out," he explained. "But first, let me introduce you around."

Carlton felt like he spent most of the morning shaking hands and exchanging introductions, but he didn't mind; all the men he met were friendly and eager to impart a little advice to him once Fenich had explained who he was and what he was doing. He'd heard a lot of the advice before -- from professors, from uncles who were cops, from Fenich himself -- but he nodded and thanked them all before Fenich led him over to the next cop for another introduction.

Fenich finally sat Carlton down at his desk with a stack of paperwork to fill out while Fenich got back to work. It was the same, usual, dry information he'd put on dozens of applications since he'd started college, and Carlton's mind started to wonder as he wrote his Carpinteria address for what felt like the twelfth time.

But even as he fought to stay focused on the crushingly boring task, his mind started to wander and, like it had much too often lately, he started thinking about Shawn. Of course, having thoughts about Shawn while sitting in the middle of the SBPD only made him feel that much more guilty and he shifted restlessly in his seat. Not that his discomfort derailed his thoughts -- he still had Shawn on the brain. 

Carlton had just finished the last sheet of his stack and was ruthlessly suppressing the sound of Shawn's voice in his head teasing, _So, what? Sex is like a job with you? There’s x amount of experience needed to qualify?_ , when another officer, a captain, approached him.

"You must be John's protégé that we've heard so much about," he declared. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Carlton Lassiter, sir," he said as he stood and offered the captain his hand.

"Brett Connors," he revealed, followed up by a strong, firm handshake.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to my ride along," Carlton told him.

"Always glad to help a future member of the department," Connors assured him. Then, in a quieter tone, he added, "I knew your father. He was a good man."

"Thank you, sir," he said again. 

Connors must've been able to see the emotion that had been triggered by the mention of his father because he briskly changed topics. "How are you coming with all the paperwork?"

"Almost finished," Carlton answered.

"Well, John has an interview he's finishing up at the moment," Connors explained. "But I'd be glad to take you over to Personnel, get the ball rolling for you."

"I'd appreciate that, sir," Carlton began, "I'll just---"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence because a cop sitting a few desks away slammed his telephone down in disgust, startling both of them.

"Something wrong, Spencer?" Connors barked out. His tone was sharp but Carlton knew from experience that it was simply the style of communication used among cops. 

"No, Cap, everything's fine," Spencer growled back, obviously pissed about something. "Just another call from the school."

"You're not working a case about a school," Connors pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," Spencer said grimly. "It's that damn kid of mine again. I swear, I'm going to kill him one of these days. At least this incident didn't involve a backhoe."

Connors grinned, letting out a snort of laughter. "He's a good kid, Henry. Cut him some slack."

Spencer gave him a disbelieving look as he stood from his desk, grabbing his jacket. "I'm due in court, sir. See you later."

"Where's the DeSilva file?" Connors called after him.

"On my desk!" Spencer yelled back before he disappeared from the bullpen.

Once Spencer had cleared out, Connors glanced back at Carlton. "Grab your papers, Carlton, I'll walk you over to Personnel."

"Yes, sir," Carlton nodded as he obediently collected his clipboard full of paperwork, pocketing the pen that Fenich had given him in case he needed one later.

Instead of heading straight toward out of the bullpen, they made a detour toward Spencer's desk -- to collect the DeSilva file, Carlton figured. Connors rifled through Spencer's files for a minute before he found the one he was looking for. He handed the file off to Carlton while he quickly straightened up the items he'd knocked askew in his search. One of the items he straightened was a photograph of Spencer and a little brown-haired boy who looked to be between eight and ten years old. 

Connors looked at the photo for a moment, flashing it at Carlton before he returned it to its proper place. "He _is_ a good kid," Connors said again. "Henry just has high expectations, wants the best for him."

"Cute," Carlton said, looking down at the little boy in the photograph, wondering what he could've possibly done that involved a backhoe.

"I know how he feels," Connors continued conversationally as they headed toward the personnel department. "I have a daughter, myself. Trish."

Carlton nodded.

"She's graduating high school this year," Connors told him, and his face was transformed by the thought of his daughter, softening his features. "She's at the top of her class, captain of the cheer squad. Couldn't be prouder if I tried."

Carlton didn't say anything but he couldn't help the rush of guilt that made perspiration break out across his forehead. Captain Connors's daughter was the same age as Shawn and he could only imagine the kinds of hell that the man next to him would put him through if he ever even entertained laying a hand on his young daughter. 

Shawn had parents, too -- parents who'd probably feel the same way if they 'd been aware of what some twenty-five year-old man had done to with their underage son. It made Carlton feel like a charlatan standing there in the SBPD, pretending to be someone with the clear ethical imperative needed to serve and protect society.

But in the more selfish regions of his mind, he just hoped he never ever had the bad luck to run into any of Shawn's relatives who might entertain thoughts about killing him. From the day he'd spent getting drunk with Rodney, he'd remembered Galina telling him all about the cultures she'd studied in an anthropology course that considered the taking of someone's virginity to be tantamount to theft if not condoned by the family. Her detailed explanations of the some of the more creative punishments were enough to make him cringe, almost a month later. 

In the Personnel department, the captain introduced Carlton to Rhonda, an even-tempered blonde who'd be in charge of getting all his paperwork together. 

"You were printed back in December," she said, looking over his file after Connors had left. "And everything seems to be in order with your NAC, so we're just down to a few last things."

"You mean more than this?" he asked archly, laying the finished clipboard of paperwork with a thud.

Rhonda smiled. "Actually, yes." She set own her file on top of his clipboard and bent down, searching for something in a large drawer behind her desk. After a moment, she came up with a large bound notebook which she immediately hefted in Carlton's direction. "You'll have to read the manual," she informed him. "And you're responsible for following all the rules and regulations herein."

"Not a problem," he said, taking the manual from her.

"You'll also have to submit to a drug test," she told him. "But I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Carlton smirked, thinking of Rodney's offer of less-than-legal substances to help him with his "thinking-about-Shawn" problem. "No, it won't."

Rhonda nodded. "Then we should be about finished here," she assured him, making a grab for the clipboard. "As long as you've filled out everything here, I'll just need you to pee in a cup for me and then I'll send you off to have your picture taken for your ID."

"Oh joy," he intoned dryly.

Her smile widened. "Which part did you like best? The peeing in the cup or the picture part?"

"Well, they're both such barrels of fun."

Rhonda stifled a chuckle as she flipped through his application. "I think we're all...no, actually you missed a question here."

Carlton craned his neck to look down on the sheet with her. "Where?"

She pointed a painted nail. "Here. The usual one -- "have you ever been convicted of a crime, other than a routine traffic violation" -- which is on every application in existence, I believe." She swiveled the clipboard back to face him. "If you please, Mr. Lassiter."

A month ago, it wouldn't have given him pause and he'd have marked the "NO" box and initialed it with an impatient flourish. But now he couldn't stop himself from hesitating, pen hovering above the paper.

Rhonda noticed. "What? 

"Nothing," mumbled Carlton. "Just thinking about something."

"What? All the felonies you've been convicted of?" Rhonda teased.

Carlton swallowed hard. "No, not convicted."

Rhonda mistook his response as another joke which made her laugh. "You're just trying to avoid the drug testing part of the afternoon, Mr. Lassiter," she scolded.

He managed a weak smile and forced himself to make the appropriate marks on the page before handing it back to her. "Any more hoops?"

Rhonda held up the sample cup. "Just the fun ones, Mr. Lassiter."

Carlton grimaced but took the cup.


	6. Chapter 6

The department's 4th of July picnic had always been one of its most popular events and this year was no exception, Carlton noted, as he swept his eyes across the park, cops and their families as far as the eye could see. 

Younger kids played tag across the green expanse that the cops had claimed while a small group of the preteen boys played with sparklers -- a little too enthusiastically for Carlton's comfort. The wives, under the spreading shade of a huge, collapsible tent, were busy organizing the mess of potluck dishes that had been prepared for the occasion while a small contingent of officers -- Captain Connors, included -- were in charge of the all-important grilling of the hamburgers and hot dogs.

Carlton wasn't much involved in the ruckus but was content to stand on the sidelines and observe, amused by the antics around him. It was a bright, sunny afternoon under a blue, cloudless sky and he was thankful to have the day off. Ever since his ride along had started, he'd been working at a grueling pace, spending as many hours as possible at the PD in observation, learning, helping where he could. Both Fenich and Connors encouraged him to discuss cases with them to flex his logic skills; he enjoyed it as just as he did the physical rigor of fitness training that Dobbs coached him in and the superfluous target practice that Kane would supervise for him, that let him get his hands on a gun and his eye on the target for a few hours a week.

But for all the reward he got from it, the work was hard on a body and a mind and Carlton was glad for the three-day weekend. Even Fenich, who pushed him harder than anyone, had remarked that he'd begun to look a little haggard, which Carlton took as a hint to slow down, at least for a little while. 

Luckily, the 4th of July holiday was going to let him do just that. After the festivities today, he'd still have Sunday, Monday and Tuesday to relax before he was expected back at the precinct.

"Need a beer, Carlton?" Fenich asked as he came up behind Carlton, two bottles in hand. 

Carlton tore his eyes away from the horizon and acknowledged his mentor's presence with a nod. He checked the bottle he held and realized the last few swallows had gone hot and flat. He laid the bottle at his feet with a silent promise to toss it later. "Don't mind if I do, sir," he said, accepting the new beer, still refreshingly cold to the touch.

"Enjoying yourself?" Fenich asked next as he settled at Carlton's side to watch the same little kids run along the grass.

"Sure am," he admitted. "Nice change of pace."

"We all need it," Fenich agreed. "And it's nice to get everyone out here together."

"I know I need it and I'm not even doing the work," Carlton told him.

"Close enough at the moment," Fenich said in return, taking a swig of his beer. "I can't wait to get you through the academy and on the force. You're going to make one hell of an officer."

"Thank you, sir."

"No need for that, it's just the truth," the older man told him in a very no-nonsense tone. "The last thing I'd want on the force was another idiot, no matter how much I respected his daddy."

Carlton nodded, pleased with the compliment. But, as usual, references to his father made him uncomfortable and he changed the topic. "You're not part of the grilling brigade?" He used his beer bottle to point toward the grills.

"No," Fenich said with a chuckle. "Connors has got it covered and it's been known to get fierce. I'd rather just eat and let them do the bitching over charcoal and lighter fluid versus woodchips or whatever the hell it is."

Carlton laughed, too. "I don't blame you."

They fell into a companionable conversational pattern, mostly just a few words here and there as they soaked up the relaxing, friendly ambience of the picnic. Carlton continued to let his eyes wander over the park, always looking, cataloguing, biting back inappropriate laughter when one of those boys finally managed to singe himself on the sparklers he'd been playing with all afternoon. 

He glanced guiltily over toward his mentor only to see Fenich grinning, too. "I kept telling him to stop," he explained. "If you can't learn, you've gotta feel."

Carlton shook the laughter away and finished his second beer. He noticed that Fenich had as well. "Want me to make a beer run, sir?"

Fenich handed him the empty bottle. "Don't mind if you do, Carlton."

The tent where the potluck dishes were laid out was also the refreshments command center, so Carlton quickly headed over, dropping the empty bottles in the first garbage can he passed. Fenich's wife, Lorraine, was the one managing the volunteers behind the tables, but she paused long enough to ask a pretty, blonde-haired girl to hand over to two cold beers.

"Thanks," Carlton said, even as he quickly escaped. Mrs. Fenich had been trying to find him "a nice girl" all summer and the last thing he needed was the lengthy introduction with the cute blonde that Lorraine had most likely had planned.

It was on his way back to Fenich that Carlton cast out another one of those long, surveying looks across the park -- just seeing, investigating. But something made him look a little farther toward the north side of the park, to the line of deciduous trees that separated the parking lot and the park proper. There he saw a flash of wild brown hair, skinny shoulders and arms: a teenager leaning against the trunk of one of the trees. 

His back was to Carlton and couldn't see more than a slice of him -- the hair, the arms, the black T-shirt but something about the kid's shape, the way he was flailing his arms, reminded him of Shawn and he almost stopped breathing at the sudden reminder.

He'd done a spectacular job of keeping his mind away from Shawn since he's started at the SBPD; if Carlton was honest, it was probably part of the reason he'd pushed himself so much, had strove to keep as busy as possible. And if his fantasies sometimes wandered over the pale flesh of a certain someone, it wasn't his fault that he couldn't control what his mind and body conspired to do when he was mostly asleep.

Carlton blinked when his staring eyes blurred and, once they were clear, the kid was out of view, gone like maybe he'd never been there. He shook himself and cursed his suddenly racing pulse, tightly reining in his reactions as he scrambled back over to Fenich's side.

"Took you long enough," Fenich observed with a sly smile. "See something you like and get distracted?"

Carlton did a double take and almost demanded how Fenich knew until he realized the cop was probably referring to the pretty blonde that Lorraine had nudged in his direction. "Thought I saw someone I knew from school in the parking lot," Carlton lied, desperately trying to project nonchalance. "I was wrong, though."

Fenich took his beer from Carlton, looking a little disappointed, but not inclined to discuss the matter any further. They fell back into their comfortable silence, Carlton's attention on the tent, waiting for the sign that it was time to eat. The fact that such an object of observation kept his eyes away from the direction of the parking lot was an added bonus.

"It looks like they've finished the grilling without incident this year," Fenich noticed, nudging Carlton with his elbow. "I can hardly believe it."

"Does that mean it's about time to eat?" he asked.

"Yeah, soon," Fenich told him. The officer's eyes skittered away from the food, down along the sides of the park until they landed on something he'd obviously been looking for. He raised his arm and called out, "Hey, Shawn! Come here!"

Carlton didn't think it was possible for a man's heart to stop and for him to continue breathing, albeit shallowly, but that moment proved to him otherwise. He glanced at Fenich with horrified eyes before he bit the bullet and followed the officer's gaze outward across the park, until they landed on a pair of teenagers coming their way -- one a black kid he'd never seen before and the other the scrawny, wild-haired kid he'd seen earlier, the one who couldn't be anyone else other than Shawn, _his_ Shawn.

He could tell the moment that Shawn realized who he was, standing there with Fenich: the kid's feet faltered and his friend had to grab him by the arm to keep from tumbling. He quickly brushed aside his friend's help, though, and thrust his hands down into his pockets, shooting Carlton a long, strange look just before the pair reached them.

"Shawn!" Fenich said again when the teenagers were in range. "What happened to your dad?"

"Whaddya mean?" Shawn asked as he and his friend stopped moving forward, leaving more than arm's length between them.

Fenich pointed toward the grills. "There wasn't any bloodshed over the burgers. That's gotta mean he's not around."

"Oh, oh yeah," Shawn grinned. "Him and mom decided to drive up the coast on some vacation thing for the weekend."

"Yeah, I think he mentioned that, actually..." Fenich trailed off, noticing the cautious, tentative way that Carlton and Shawn were eyeing each other. "Since I got you over, how 'bout I introduce you to a friend of mine? Shawn, this is Carlton. Carlton, this is Shawn."

As Carlton had come to expect, there was more boldness in Shawn. "Howdy, _Carlton_ ," he drawled. 

"Shawn," he nodded, voice heavy and throat threatening to close. He tried not to but he found his gaze wandering up and down Shawn, noting similarities, differences from the one who lived in his memory. They were frightening close, right down to the invitational tilt of the head and the possibly illegal glint in his blue-gray eyes and Carlton had to fight against the urge to step back.

"And I'm Gus," Shawn's friend said to no one in particular, shooting Shawn a strange look as he elbowed him in the side. 

Shawn let out a little oomph! of breath at the contact. "Oh, yeah, Detective, _Carlton_ , this is my friend, Burton."

"I've seen you a time or two before, with Shawn," Fenich said. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too, sir," Gus said. "And you, Carlton."

"Likewise."

Fenich turned back to Shawn. "Carlton's an observer with us for the summer," he told him. "He's planning on following in the family tradition and going to academy, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Carlton answered. 

"I've known him since he was about your age," Fenich told Shawn. "He knew then that he wanted to be a cop."

As much as Carlton liked Fenich, he wasn't the most subtle guy around and Shawn winced under the insinuation. Carlton remembered what Shawn had said about being a cop, about not wanting to be one because his father wanted him to, and he almost winced in sympathy.

"How interesting! Maybe Carlton can tell me all about it one day!" Shawn said brightly, all false enthusiasm. He glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for an escape route. "Well, well, lookee there, grub's done!" Shawn gave them a little wave. "Don't know about you two but me and Gus are starving. Catch ya later!"

Without giving his friend a chance to reply in any way, Shawn started pushing him in the direction of the tent where the throngs of people were starting to gather.

"I think he's right," Fenich said. "Ready to eat?"

"In a minute, sir," Carlton said, slowly, hoping that the craziness he was feeling wasn't evident in his voice. "You go ahead."

Fenich slapped him on the back affectionately and then headed off in the same direction that Shawn and his friend had went, finally leaving Carlton alone. He finally took a breath -- deep, ragged -- and tried to sort through all the weirdness gurgling inside him. 

As impossible as it seemed -- and it seemed damn near impossible -- Shawn was there. Not just there in Santa Barbara or in the neighborhood or at the park but there at the picnic, the son of a cop --- probably one of the cops that Carlton had met since he'd started, any one of the guys who'd been so nice to him since his ride along began.

And probably the son of a cop who'd want to put a bullet between his eyes if he knew that he'd slept with his 17-year-old son.

Between that realization and the terrible thrill that thrummed through him from just seeing Shawn again, one thing bubbled up from the chaotic litany of his thoughts:

He was in deep, deep shit.

**

"Shawn, Shawn, Shawn!" Gus protested as Shawn pushed him along. "I thought we were going to eat!"

"No," Shawn explained, still pushing, his target the trees near the parking lot. It was the only place around that offered a measure of privacy. "That was my clever way of skipping out of a very awkward situation."

"I noticed. And why was it so awkward?" Gus wanted to know, finally digging in his heels so Shawn couldn't push him any further. "And stop pushing me!"

"Well, then, come on," he urged, darting ahead of Gus. His friend sighed but followed, ducking under the line of trees so that they were obscured from the rest of the picnic. 

"Okay, Shawn, what's got you weird -- well, weirder than usual anyway?" Gus finally asked as soon as Shawn stopped walking, leaning back against the tree dramatically. 

Shawn wasn't sure where to start to explain all the things buzzing in his head, so he got out the most salient point first. "It's him!"

"Who's him?"

"He's the guy!"

"Who?"

" _Carlton_!"

"You mean that guy with your dad's friend?"

"Yeah!"

"He's what?"

"The guy!"

"What guy?"

Shawn sighed. "I'm not doing this with you again, Gus. _The_ guy, the one I met that weekend, the guy I..." Shawn waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "...with."

"Oh. _Oh._." Gus's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really!"

Gus craned around the tree and looked over the gathering crowds. Shawn followed suit and their eyes both fell on Carlton at about the same time. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables with Detective Fenich and his family, his profile toward the two of them.

"He's not really your type, is he?" Gus asked dubiously.

"Of course, he's my type," Shawn said quickly. He thought for a moment, then asked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's just..." Gus trailed off. "I have no idea. He's a guy."

"You just can't appreciate his appeal, Gus," Shawn told him. "You're much too straight."

"Thank god."

"Well, _I_ like him."

"We've established that," Gus reminded him. He looked from Carlton to Shawn. "That explains the weirdness, at least."

"Yes," Shawn agreed. "I doubt that he was expecting to see me here."

"Or again."

"That, too."

Gus gave Shawn a steady, questioning look. "Don't do it, Shawn."

Shawn feigned innocence. "Don't what?"

His friend shook his head. "You know what. Don't starting messing around with him again."

He shot Gus a disbelieving look. "Gus!"

"No, Shawn!" Gus was serious and earnest, two things that it difficult for Shawn to argue against; it made him feel like the bad friend he usually was. "Just because he's here and you can get to him, just because you like him, does not make this a good idea. You're 17, he's 25! He's a cop! He's a cop with your dad!"

"But Gus, it's like _fate_ , again!" Shawn protested. "Out of all the police stations, in all of California, he had to walk into my dad's."

"Shawn, we talked about this! We agreed!"

"Yes, we did, but that was when I didn't ever think I'd see him again."

Gus sighed and looked around the trees again, easily finding Carlton with his eyes. "He didn't look too thrilled with you."

"That's because he was a little spooked by the whole 'only 17' thing," Shawn said. "But that won't be a problem."

"Why? Are you magically not 17 anymore?"

"Gus, don't be a silly goose!" Shawn told him. "Tell me you're not underestimating my skills."

"I'm underestimating your sanity," Gus admitted. "But that's not new."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Let's just go eat."

Gus seemed relieved to have the conversation finished and Shawn could understand. He knew that Gus was right in his objections but he really didn't want to hear it. After all, it wasn't like he'd ever let Gus's good sense stop him before now. 

He _did_ think that it was something like fate again that he'd run into Carlton that day; he had almost skipped over the annual event since his parents weren't around but Gus had persuaded him to keep his promise to his dad that he'd go and "represent the Spencer family." Then he'd almost split after the few hours, figuring that saying hey to Connors and Monroe had been enough representing but something had distracted him from leaving and then Fenich had called him over and then -- Carlton.

Shawn stuck with Gus and far away from Carlton for the rest of the picnic, but he thought he felt eyes following him from time to time. He ignored it, though, and concentrated on a plan of attack which mostly involved various ways to catch Carlton alone so they could talk -- or something else. 

He couldn't quite believe it but Shawn was nervous, a state of agitation he rarely reached unless his dad was somehow involved. But he was nervous as he waited for his chance to talk to Carlton, his palms sweaty and his insides as jittery as he'd been the night he'd first worked up the courage to proposition Carlton in the first place.

As evening began to creep over the sky and the party was starting to disband, Shawn had decided on a plan of attack. He just had to convince Gus to leave without him. It took some wheedling to do it but he was finally successful, though Gus only agreed to leave him alone if he promised to call as soon as he got home. That and more promised to his worrywart friend, Shawn waved him goodbye as Gus left, shooting Shawn one long, meaningful frown before he disappeared into the night.

Shawn cut it close but he managed to slide into position with about a minute to spare. He waited until he heard the engine start and Carlton put the car in gear before he popped up from the backseat.

"So, Carlton, want to tell me all about the joys of being a cop?"

"Jesus!"

It was lucky that he'd hadn't pulled out of the parking lot yet because Carlton jumped and yanked the steering wheel to the left, causing the car to swerve. Shawn had to hold on to the back of the driver's seat to keep from getting tossed around.

"Shawn, actually," he managed to tease even while scrambling to stay in his seat. 

Carlton hit the breaks and the car came to a sudden stop, Shawn still clinging to Carlton's seat. "What the hell are you doing in my car?" he demanded.

"Hoping to get you alone," Shawn said, grinning. "Looks like it worked, too."

"Shawn..."

"So, how've ya been?" Shawn asked conversationally. "You liking the cop scene as much as you thought you would?"

Carlton leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. Shawn resisted the urge to touch him. "Fine," he said at least. "And yes."

"Good to see you're still such a talker," Shawn groused. 

Carlton glanced up into the rearview mirror and Shawn looked up to see his blue eyes watching him. "What do you want, Shawn?"

"A lot of things," he said with flirty lilt in his voice. "But at that moment, I'd settle for you dropping the weirdness, it's freaking me out."

Carlton rolled his eyes. "The last time I saw you, you were running for what seemed to be your life."

"Luckily, I beat that clock and my dad didn't kill me," Shawn explained. "At least not over that."

"This is a long way from Anaheim," Carlton accused, finally twisting around to face him. They were almost nose-to-nose and Carlton quickly drew back, putting space between them. 

"Carlton," Shawn said slowly. "It was a _fake_ ID. As in, not real. My dad's a cop, I know better than to put my real address on the thing!"

Something Shawn said seemed to spook Carlton; his expression closed and his eyes hardened. "You really shouldn't be here."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because this conversation would be better in a place with some kind of flat surface?" Shawn asked. "Although, I've heard backseat car sex is kinda fun, too."

"Shawn..." Carlton shook his head. "That's exactly why you shouldn't be here. We can't -- I can't have anything to do with you."

"And why is that?"

"Oh, maybe, because you're 17!" Carlton snapped. 

"Pffft!" was Shawn's intelligent reply. "Age ain't nothing but a number, Carly."

"Or, in my case, a jail sentence," Carlton returned. 

Shawn was about to say something else witty and flippant but then he noticed the tension in Carlton. "Dude, you're really all spazzy about this?"

"What do you think?" Carlton asked, anger in his voice. "Shawn, do you realize you made me a criminal by lying to me about your age?"

Shawn wasn't sure how to respond because Carlton was obviously upset about that fact and it was the one fact he couldn't change. It wasn't his fault he was still a few months away from being totally legal. "It's not like I'm going to run over to the station and have you arrested," he finally said.

Carlton sighed and turned back around. "I know that. But it doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything!" Shawn decided that this was not a conversation they needed to be having with the seats between them, so he clambered over the offending upholstery, grunting with the effort as he shimmied from the backseat to the front. He fell into the passenger seat with a thud. 

Carlton was watching him, confused, wary and Shawn steeled himself for more yelling, even as he continued to talk. "It's not like I'm here against my will."

"That doesn't make it any less a crime!"

"Peeling an orange in your hotel room is also against the law, but it doesn't stop people from sending fruit baskets," Shawn told him. He was turned so that his whole body faced the driver's seat, one leg tucked beneath him.

Carlton was distracted in spite of himself. "How do you know that?"

"Doesn't matter," Shawn said, leaning in closer to him. "Point is, you're not a criminal; you're just letting that Catholic guilt thing work overtime."

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know I was Catholic?"

Shawn rolled his. "Bible in your bedroom, rosary in your nightstand drawer, and..." -- he steadied himself with one hand on Carlton's shoulder and slid a finger from the other hand under the collar of his T-shirt from where he pulled a thin, silver chain -- "...saint's medal. I'm guessing Michael, patron saints of cops."

"Be that as it may," Carlton finally said, looking distinctly uncomfortable with Shawn's encroachment into his personal space. "This isn't just about guilt."

Shawn was having unhappy flashbacks to the nobler -- and more frustrating -- moments of his first night with Carlton and determined it was time to try something more direct. He closed the distance between them even more, swinging one leg over Carlton's, both arms going around his neck. While he couldn't quite straddle him, it was close enough inside the close quarters of the car's front seat. 

"You are absolutely the last nice guy I crawl in bed with," he declared before pressing every inch of his body he could against Carlton's, his mouth sealing over his to stifle any protest.

Even more quickly than the first time, Carlton's hesitance flamed into acquiescence, like a match to powder. Shawn just held on for the ride as Carlton leaned into him, pushing him down into the passenger seat until he was on his back, Carlton pressing down into him. Shawn wasn't quite sure how they managed it but was thankful for the unexpected roominess of the front seat as he was able to hook one leg around Carlton. 

"You're insane," Carlton managed to say between kisses, his hands already busy under the hem of Shawn's T-shirt. " _I'm_ insane."

"Sounds like a match to me," Shawn grinned, sliding his leg against Carlton's, wriggling under him for a more pleasurable position. When his breath caught in his throat and Carlton honest-to-god _growled_ against his mouth, he figured he'd found the right one.

"I'm going to hell," Carlton whispered against the skin of his throat, breath hot and teeth sharp as he left a trail from his ear to his collarbone.

Shawn's eyes were closed, hands greedy, hips moving. "Yeah," he agreed. "But what a way to go."


	7. Chapter 7

Though his thoughts were beginning to sound like a broken record, Carlton wasn't sure how things with Shawn had escalated to where they stood at that moment.

It had taken some considerable willpower -- and the fear of being caught by a stray picnicker -- to pry himself away from Shawn but he'd managed it; Carlton considered it a small victory. Shawn had pouted and whined but Carlton had been able to resist and had driven to a local arcade where Shawn said his friend was waiting for him. Of course, Shawn being Shawn, it took a considerable effort to finally get him out of the car, but once again Carlton had managed. 

Not that Shawn was easily deterred; in exchange for not doing a number of very embarrassing things in public, Carlton had had to agree to meet him the next day and he wasn't sure how he felt about that, either.

Actually he was sure: it just depended on where he was when he did the thinking. 

When Carlton was alone, somewhere he could be logical and cool-headed, he could see what a mistake he'd be making even seeing Shawn again, let alone continuing with whatever they had -- it was reckless, dangerous, _illegal_. The voice in his head that sometimes sounded like his mother -- and wasn't that a terrible thing to be cursed with? -- berated him for every thought, feeling or idea he had connected with Shawn, reminded him over and over what he was putting in jeopardy when he did.

But when he was around Shawn, everything that made sense flew out of the window. It was maddening -- Shawn was maddening. When he had the kid there with him, it seemed to be perfectly okay to pin him down in his car and make out with him parked in a mostly-deserted lot where any number of his co-workers might've seen them. It even made sense to agree to Shawn's request to see him again, even when it was obvious from the flinty look in his eyes that Shawn wanted nothing more than them sweaty and naked on some flat surface.

Which was illegal, he kept reminding himself. Illegal, illegal, illegal.

It struck him, as he found himself driving toward the designated meeting spot, that he was very, very weak.

Carlton was going to have to figure it out and soon. He couldn't keep up oscillating from one decision to the other, torn up with guilt half the time and want the other. He either had to admit to himself that he was doing this and stick with it or he needed to pull the plug before it went any further. 

He'd decided to give himself the weekend to make that decision. A weekend of thinking, of deliberation -- of Shawn.

Their designated meeting place was the same arcade where he'd left Shawn the night before and, as if he hadn't moved from the spot in nineteen hours, Shawn was loitering on the sidewalk when he pulled up to the curb.

Carlton had barely slowed down before Shawn was scrambling into the passenger seat. "Onward ho, Carly!" he ordered, pointing directly ahead. "And take the next left!"

He wasn't sure where Shawn was leading him to but he followed the directions until Shawn's commands had him turning into the driveway of a house near the beach. "Where are we?" he asked Shawn.

"Mi casa es su casa," Shawn explained in badly accented Spanish. 

"Your house?"

Shawn grinned. "Don't look so worried, Carly, my folks are gone for the week. It'll just be you and me."

He led Carlton into the house, a nice homey place, and straight into the kitchen. "You want something?" Shawn asked, stopping at the fridge. He opened it and a blast of cool, refrigerated air hit Carlton's arms as he watched Shawn peer inside. "We've got juice, soda, water and...other stuff."

"Soda's fine."

Shawn grabbed two cans of soda and pointed toward the sliding glass doors that led out to the porch. "It's nicer out here," he explained. Carlton nodded and followed, watching silently as Shawn stopped to kick off his shoes before stepping out on the porch and taking a seat on the steps. There were chairs, too, but Carlton mimicked Shawn and sat beside him on the stairs.

He had to admit that Shawn was right about it being nice. The yard was well-kept and the view was of the ocean and it was almost peaceful, something he hadn't expected to ever associate with anything related to Shawn.

Shawn took a drink from his soda then set it between his bare feet. "So, Carly," he began. "What have you been up to these last few months? Just the police observer thing?"

"Mostly," he answered. "You?"

"Oh, the usual," Shawn said, leaning back on his elbows. "Graduated high school, hooked my friend up with a hottie, spent two weeks grounded for sneaking out of the house."

"Your dad found out?"

Shawn glanced over at him. "About Irvine? Nooooo. I'm still alive, aren't I? Nah, this was something different." He sighed. "It did put a damper on my plans for Mexico but we've still got the summer. I'm optimistic."

Carlton looked down at him, amused. "You do like causing trouble, don't you?"

"Who? Me? No!" Shawn feigned shock. "It's not my fault trouble follows me around."

"Yes, because you are so innocent."

Shawn grinned and bumped his shoulder against Carlton's. "Well, I _was_."

Carlton looked away, focusing on his shoed feet resting near Shawn's bare ones. He knew he had to be far gone because he was actually thinking about how nice the kid's toes looked. "You know this can get me in a lot of trouble, Shawn."

Shawn sighed. "You think too much about that kind of stuff, Carly."

"I have to," he argued. "If someone finds out, it could screw up my career before it's even started."

"Well, who's going tell?" Shawn wanted to know. He grabbed for his soda but he didn't drink it, instead he just rolled the frosted can between his hands. "The only way they're gonna know is if someone tells them. Well, I'm not and you're not and nobody else knows!"

"It's not that simple!"

"It could be, if you'd stop trying to make it harder than it has to be," Shawn said. "And I'm almost 18! Just a couple of more months."

"Oh, almost 18? Well that makes it okay!" Carlton rolled his eyes, voice laden with sarcasm. "Let's just forget about it then!"

"Yes!" Shawn nodded. "Exactly!"

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know but it still sounds like a plan to me!"

"That's not the answer!"

"No, but it could be _a_ answer," Shawn told him. 

"But it's not a very good one."

Shawn huffed, putting his soda down again. He stood and walked down a step or two, then spun until he was facing Carlton. He rested his hands on Carlton's tense shoulders, leaning over until they were almost forehead-to-forehead. "I don't know if you've noticed, Carly, but I'm not keeping you here." He was speaking quietly and Carlton could hear the hurt buried in his tone. "If you don't want to be here, all you got to do is leave."

He was right -- which was part of Carlton's problem; he just couldn't seem to do it -- walk out, leave, never come back. The problem was that, all issues aside, he wanted to be right where he was. "I know," he admitted, reaching up to touch Shawn's face, a thumb across his cheek.

Carlton was rewarded with another one of Shawn's incandescent smiles. "Ooooh, frosty," he joked, ducking away from the hand. "Well, that settles it! Stop your angsting and come eat! My treat," he added before he disappeared back into the house.

Shawn's treat was Chinese ordered from a place around the corner, delivered in those little white boxes right to the front door, that they ate sitting cross-legged in the living room floor. Shawn chose to eat with the provided chopsticks though he fetched Carlton a fork from the kitchen.

"So you really like this cop thing?" Shawn asked around a mouth of rice.

"Yeah, I do," Carlton replied, taking a bite from his egg roll. 

"Huh," Shawn shrugged. "And here I thought you had good taste."

"I take it you're still not interested?"

"Oh hell no," Shawn told him, almost spitting rice in his exuberance. "You won't ever catch me doing anything that even resembles police work. And that include eating doughnuts."

Carlton hid his amusement behind another bite of egg roll. "So what do you want to do?"

"And isn't that question of the hour," Shawn said sourly, leaving Carlton to assume he'd been asked it enough in the last few months. "I'm not sure. My friend, he's going to UC Santa Barbara, but..."

"College isn't your thing?"

"Got it in one," he said, pointing at him with his chopsticks. "I don't know, I kinda want to try my chances in Hollywood, see if I can break into the entertainment industry."

"Doesn't everyone want to try that?" Carlton asked.

"I am not everyone, Carlton," Shawn assured him.

Carlton looked at him for a long moment. "No, you're not."

"And if that doesn't work out, I'm only a hop, skip and jump from Porn Valley. Think I got a chance there?" Shawn was rising from the floor as he spoke and he accentuated his question with a wiggle of his hips.

"I'd have some other plan if I were you," Carlton suggested.

Shawn frowned at him but it was a playful expression, plastic and coy. "You're just jealous," he announced. "Don't want to share, see me making out with all the other hot boys!"

"Like I said, keep your day job," he called out to Shawn's retreating back as he carried the leftovers into the kitchen.

"When I get one, you mean!" Shawn hollered back.

Carlton smiled and stood as well, moving to the sofa just as Shawn reappeared from the kitchen. He settled close, almost draping himself over Carlton. "So you're still here," he observed.

"Yeah."

"You thinking of leaving?"

"Not unless you're going to tell me to."

Shawn was grinning again, wrapping his arms around Carlton. "Well, as far as I'm concerned you can stay as long as you want. As long as you leave before my parents get back on Wednesday."

"That's about when I'd want to leave," he said. "I don't think that meeting would end well for any of us."

"That is, like, the understatement of the year!" Shawn laughed and Carlton couldn't help himself any longer and he kissed the smiling mouth so close to his. Shawn tightened his arms around him and started moving, scooting backward, pulling Carlton down until he stretched out over him. It had been awhile since Carlton had made out on a sofa but it didn't take him long to remember the particulars. He could tell that Shawn was frantic beneath him, urgently trying to escalate their activities but Carlton kept it teasing, despite Shawn's best efforts.

Carlton could feel Shawn's bare foot sliding against his ankle, toes slipping up under his pants leg. "Come on, Carly!" he whined, plucking at Carlton's T-shirt.

"I'm too old for making out on the couch," Carlton replied. "And too tall."

"You've been doing a bang-up job 'til now," Shawn said, wriggling. "But we _could_ move this to a better location."

"Oh?" he pulled back and they twisted back into sitting positions, though Shawn's hands were still wandering over Carlton.

"My room," Shawn said meaningfully, watching him with half-lidded eyes. "Come on, I'll show you my guitar." He smiled, aiming to project the sultry look he'd tried on Carlton before. He failed in his guile but he was sultry nonetheless, bruised mouth and high color appealing on their own.

Carlton laughed shakily. "Why do I feel like someone just asked me to look at their etchings?"

"No idea." Shawn hopped up from the sofa, tugging Carlton to follow. "I'm not even sure what an etching _is_."

Carlton let himself be pulled to his feet. "Lead on."

**

They'd barely cleared the threshold of his bedroom before Shawn threw himself at Carlton again. Carlton wasn't complaining, though, and they stumbled toward the bed. Shawn was silently thankful that he'd taken the time to clear a path from the door to the bed; otherwise they'd have broken their necks trying to navigate with their concentration on each other and not their feet.

By the time they reached the bed, Shawn had lost his shirt and was working on helping Carlton lose his. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he went with it, pulling Carlton down with him. He came willingly and Shawn couldn't help but be giddy at the fact that this was actually happening even after he'd come to terms with the fact that it wouldn't. 

It was obvious that Carlton was in no hurry, a fact which frustrated Shawn as much as it turned him on. He pulled away and looked down at Shawn with startling blue eyes. "I thought you said something about a guitar?"

"I was lying! It was just a very lame line to get you here," Shawn explained. "Let's get back to the sex."

Carlton glanced over his head at the said guitar, propped up in the corner. "But you do have one."

"Is there a reason you're trying to delay the sex?" Shawn asked, pouting. "I'm beginning to think you're not interested or something!"

"I did come for more than sex, you know," Carlton told him, looking very serious. It sent a shiver down Shawn's spine, made the giddiness well up inside him again. 

"I know, I know," Shawn assured him. "But it doesn't mean it shouldn't be one of the main attractions."

Carlton was still watching him indulgently, lightly skimming a hand down Shawn's chest. "Can you play it?"

"The guitar?" he asked stupidly, distracted by Carlton's ministrations. 

"Yeah."

"Not really, just a few lines of Greensleeves mostly," he admitted. "But it's a classic!"

Carlton chuckled and Shawn could feel his chest rumbling through their close proximity. It wasn't something he'd experienced before and he added it to the list of things he found to be a turn on. 

His need for discussion seemed to be fulfilled because Carlton captured Shawn's mouth in another mind-numbingly spectacular kiss and Shawn was glad to move onto more important things than his inability to play his cousin's hand-me-down guitar. Shawn resumed his task of pulling off Carlton's shirt, tugging and wiggling until they rolled over in bed and he could shuck the shirt from Carlton's body. In their new position, with Carlton's body weighing down on him, Shawn wouldn't have even been about to joke about Carlton's lack of interest because he could feel it pressing against him. Shawn tightened his arms around him, running fingers over the knobs of his spine, refusing to let him pull away again.

Carlton's mouth wandered, his tongue blazing a trail from Shawn's mouth to his neck, down his chest. His hands were everywhere -- or at least it felt that way to Shawn who was, for the first time in the long time, having trouble processing everything properly. Later, he'd be able to sit and untangle it all but, for the moment, it was a jumble of stimuli that left him writhing beneath Carlton.

It helped that Carlton seemed to be gaining momentum, becoming surer and more confident with every touch. Shawn figured he had some lingering issues from the whole age thing that had had him so serious when he'd first arrived but whatever concerns he'd had seemed to have slipped away and Shawn certainly wasn't complaining. It was insanely sexy to have Carlton take control and somewhere in the back of his mind that was still functioning, he added that to the other kinks he'd identified since he'd met Carlton.

Since he and Carlton were finally on the right track -- _fast, now, quickly_ \-- Shawn hated to break the rhythm by opening his mouth but as Carlton reached for his jeans, he knew he needed to have this particular conversation sooner rather than later if the evening was going to go the way he wanted.

He just wasn't sure how to say it.

"As much as I hate to start talking," Shawn said between kisses, voice strange-sounding to his ears, "because I might not get you to _stop_ again, there's something I gotta say."

Carlton pulled back, looking down into his face, pupils almost completely dilated. "What?" 

Shawn almost lost his train of thought at the rough, growling quality of Carlton's voice but he held on admirably. But now that he had Carlton's undivided attention, he still wasn't sure how to ask. The thoughts of what he wanted to say ran through his head and it made his already fast-paced heart race even more. "I...well, I was...uh..."

"Something wrong?" His voice was still gruff but concerned and that fact nearly derailed his thought once again.

"I was just..." Shawn took a deep breath and tried to shake off the uncharacteristic nervousness. "Well, as much as I liked what we did last time -- and I _really_ , really liked it -- I was just thinking that maybe..."

"Maybe...?"

"We could try something different."

There was a strange hitch in Carlton's breathing. "Like?"

Shawn tried to think of a tactful, adult, and sexy way to ask the question. They all sounded stupid in his head, so he gave up. "Oh, hell..."

Shawn shrugged Carlton off of him and reached out down to the edge of the bed, fishing around for something. Without a word, he tossed the tube of Astroglide up on the bed between them.

"Well?" 

Carlton was looking between Shawn's face and the Astroglide. "Is this supposed to be a clue?"

Shawn knew his face had to be as red as a tomato. He looked down, suddenly fascinated with the sheets. "I was hoping that some of those college-educated brain cells you have could connect the dots."

"I have." A pause. "I know you haven't done this before."

Shawn was still looking in fascination at his sheets. "Well, I have," he said defensively. "Kinda."

He couldn't see Carlton's face but he could hear the incredulity in his voice -- and maybe a little jealousy? "Define 'kinda' for me."

Shawn was almost positive that he couldn't die from embarrassment but he felt like he was testing that hypothesis. He was _squirming_ as he answered, remembering the strangely arousing and embarrassing explorations he'd tried in the shower. "I...kinda...tried. Myself. On myself."

Carlton must've gotten tired of staring at the top of his bed because he pushed the tube aside and grabbed Shawn, kissing him with a kind of ferocity that instantly brought back the buzz he'd lost thanks to his thoroughly embarrassing confession. Carlton, on the other hand, seemed more turned on and not less.

"We can do this," Carlton said, after a moment, once he'd reclaimed his tongue. "If---"

"You ask me if I'm sure, I swear I'm gonna beat the shit out of you, Carly," Shawn warned, shaky and scared and excited -- all of which was evident in his voice. 

Something in Carlton's face softened, turned affectionate. He ran his thumb over the swollen line of Shawn's bottom lip. "Like you could if you tried."

"Oh, I _so_ could!"

Carlton gave him a quick, hard kiss. "How about we talk about that later?"

Shawn grinned, nodding. "Sure, if you've got some _plans_ for now."

Carlton grabbed the Astroglide and laid it up near Shawn's head -- in easy reach. "I do," he assured him, bringing his hands to Shawn's fly, deftly unzipping his jeans. He started to slide the jeans down Shawn's hips and Shawn lifted his ass a little to help. 

"It's looking like a good plan to me," Shawn murmured.

"It works," Carlton replied, his hands peeling the denim from Shawn's legs, the heavy material sticky with sweat. "But you're going to have to shut up."

Shawn decided he liked that, being ordered around -- especially when Carlton was using that growly, roughened voice. He almost opened his mouth to speak but decided on a grin instead, simply nodding his assent.

Carlton smiled back, a smile that said wicked things to every inch of Shawn's body, then resumed trailing his mouth down Shawn's chest and stomach, heading even lower now that his path was no longer impeded by clothes. 

As his breath caught on the moan bubbling out of his throat, Shawn decided that they'd probably test another hypothesis before the night was over. 

He didn't think he could die from too much good sex, but he was willing to try it and see.


	8. Chapter 8

As much as he sometimes cursed it, Carlton was a creature of habit, and habit had him coming to wakefulness early the next morning. At first, he was disoriented by the odd angle of the windows that were letting light into the room but his confusion quickly burned away when he glanced over and saw Shawn sleeping next to him.

He was in no particular hurry to move. Shawn was partly draped over him, nose buried against his shoulder and Carlton was satisfied to stay where he was. He traced an idle hand up and down Shawn's back, watching Shawn sleep in languid fascination. In some ways, it was very disconcerting: the kid was energetic, always in emotion and to see him still was an aberration. But on the other hand, it was interesting to see him at rest, looking as young as his years, more serious in sleep than he ever looked awake.

Even though he wasn't ready to admit it, Carlton had made a decision last night, by choosing to sleep with Shawn again. The first time had been bad luck and ignorance and he had been able to explain it away to his conscience as such but last night he had known exactly what he'd been doing. Carlton was sure the guilt would catch up with him eventually -- probably as soon as he left -- but, at that moment, he wasn't feeling it.

Remembering Shawn's indulgent sleeping habits, Carlton had figured he'd probably have at least an hour or so before he'd wake up but his deductions were proved false when the ear-splitting sound of a phone ringing shattered the morning quiet. Shawn, mumbling and cursing under his breath, half-climbed over Carlton to make a sleepy grab at the phone on the nightstand, eyes still mostly closed as he brought the receiver to his ear.

"Hullo?" he mumbled drowsily. "Yeah, hey, Mom."

Shawn's eyes finally opened and he grinned, rather fuzzily, when he noticed that he was almost nose to nose with Carlton. He obviously decided that laying on top of him was a perfectly fine place for him to have a phone conversation because he settled in.

"What? Yes, I was asleep," he said into the phone. "It's early!" He squinted at the digital alarm clock next to the phone. "It's not even ten o'clock! Where else did you expect me to be?" 

Carlton couldn't make out Shawn's mother's words but he could hear the buzz of her voice as she responded. 

"Yes, we went! We? Me and Gus." Another pause. "Well, he doesn't have to take my word for it, he can ask Captain Connors! And Fenich, they both saw me." Shawn rolled his eyes at Carlton, although it was clear it was directed at what he was hearing through the phone. "Shouldn't you two be off doing couple-y things anyway?"

Carlton dragged a lazy hand through his hair as he waited for the conversation to end.

"Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah, I remember. I will. I promise! Jeez! Yes, okay, Mom. Love you, too. Bye."

Shawn smacked the receiver back on the base and sighed. Then he nuzzled against Carlton. "So, where were we?"

"I believe you were snoring in my ear," Carlton teased.

Shawn paused and lifted his head to glare at him. "Har-de-har-har." Then in a quieter voice, he observed, "You're still here."

"You didn't think I would be?"

Shawn shrugged. "Never any telling when you'll spazz on me again."

Carlton accepted the mild rebuke but raised an eyebrow, pointing out, "You were the one who ran out on me last time."

"Only to save my ass, Carly, I promise," Shawn told him, grinning. "An ass you're probably glad I saved. Am I right?"

Carlton decided it was time to shut him up the best way he knew how -- by keeping Shawn's mouth otherwise occupied.

They eventually untangled themselves and left the messy haven of the bed, taking turns in the shower before they headed to the kitchen, Shawn declaring starvation. Neither of them had skills when it came to things culinary but Shawn produced a pineapple from somewhere which he enthusiastically sliced for them and a quick glance in the bread box turned up bagels. Paired with some cream cheese and the fruit, it wasn't a half bad meal, especially when Shawn started up the coffeepot.

They spent most of the day just lounging around Shawn's house. It was a holiday and most places would've been closed, even if Carlton had felt safe being seen with Shawn in public. Shawn didn't seem to be mind, though; in fact, he was perfectly happy sticking to his own home. 

After breakfast, they curled up together on the sofa in the living room while Shawn tuned it to ESPN to watch the FIFA match being aired.

"Soccer?" Carlton asked dubiously, glancing at the television. Soccer wasn't really his sport; he was more of a basketball or football man, the kind of things that every other cop he knew watched. 

"It looks like Brazil is gonna kick our ass," Shawn groused. "Dude, soccer is great! Have you ever even watched a match before?"

"No."

"Well, you're going to see this one," Shawn announced, settling on top of him and directing his head toward the TV.

"Is this my only choice?" Carlton wanted to know.

"Well, it's this or OJ," Shawn told him, grabbing the remote. "And I can only watch the footage of him and the little Bronco so many times."

Once that was over and Shawn's prediction had proved correct, they went in search of other things to do. Shawn was a typical teenager with a SNES hooked up to a TV in his bedroom and a box full of games which were good for a few hours' amusement. Once they'd been exhausted, Shawn produced a stack of board games.

Carlton was willing to give board games a try, if only for the comedic value of watching Shawn, but Shawn quickly got bored and started introducing outrageous rules to the mix. Carlton didn't think he'd ever heard of anything as ridiculous as strip Yahtzee but it did eventually land them back in bed, so he wasn't complaining.

Later, he asked Shawn why he hadn't just opted for strip poker.

Shawn laughed. "Well, that wouldn't have been fair, Carly."

"To you?"

"No, to _you_. I've never lost a game of cards in my life."

It sounded like an extravagant boast but somehow Carlton could almost believe it when it came to Shawn, especially when he was smiling at him with that mischievous, knowing grin as they lay together in the messy, disheveled bed.

Before Carlton knew it, it was Tuesday afternoon. He was surprised that the time had flown so fast when they really hadn't done anything but loiter around the house or in bed since Sunday night. They'd talked -- a great deal, actually, since Shawn could rarely keep his mouth and Carlton couldn't help but respond -- but it had always been about trivial topics; Carlton wondered if Shawn had deliberately kept them from discussing much in the way of personal topics or if the boy's obfuscation was merely an ingrained habit. Not that he could fault Shawn for ignoring important topics -- Carlton hadn't exactly brought up issues like the future. He hadn't wanted to ruin their time by talking about reality but, as the time wound down, he knew something had to be said.

Shawn tried to convince Carlton to stay longer but he knew he was already pushing his luck by having stayed so long. Displeased but understanding, Shawn threw on some clothes and walked him out to the car. His shoulders were slumped, hands shoved dejectedly in his pockets.

"So, I'll see you around?" he asked, watching Carlton climb into the car.

Carlton wasn't sure what to say. As much as he wanted to see Shawn again, he'd yet to figure out how to do without a surfeit of deception or danger. "We'll figure something out," he replied.

Shawn obviously wasn't pleased at the vagueness of the answer and an uncharacteristic frowned creased his face. "Okay...later, I guess."

He turned back toward the direction of the house. Carlton stopped him. "Shawn..."

"Yeah?"

Carlton reached through the open car window and pulled Shawn into a last, lingering kiss. "I will figure something out," he declared softly against Shawn's lip. "Okay?"

Shawn was smiling now. "Okay."

Knowing if he hung around any longer he'd never leave, Carlton waved goodbye and quickly pulled his car out of the driveway and pointed his car in the direction of home. The drive to Carpinteria wasn't long and sooner than he thought, Carlton was stepping back into his silent house.

It felt strange, at first, to be away from Shawn and his house and his noise after so many days wrapped in it and Carlton found himself wandering around his small abode, trying to get settled. He finally decided to check his answering machine, idly looking through his refrigerator while he listened to messages play.

Two were hang-ups and one was from his sister, just checking in with him as she sometimes did. There was also a call from a telemarketer who'd taken the time to read her spiel into a message, which made Carlton roll his eyes and quickly hit the delete button. The last two messages were from Rodney whose recorded voice demanded that he answer the phone and then sniped huffily before ending the call. 

Carlton was just about to grab the phone to return the calls when it rang. "Hello?"

"Where have you been?" Rodney demanded to know on the other end of the phone, his voice full of impatience and pique.

"Out," Carlton said.

"For three days? I've been calling you for three days!"

"Yes, Rodney, I was out. For three days." Carlton grabbed the last beer from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table. 

"Well, you could've told somebody!" he said. Carlton rolled his eyes. "Where were you?"

"Staying...at a friend's."

"Oh really?" Carlton could hear the interest in Rodney's voice skyrocket.

"...Shawn's, actually," he admitted.

"Shawn? You mean, the jailbait kid?"

"Yeah, him."

"So, he's...?"

"In Santa Barbara. He lives here."

"And now over 18?"

Carlton downed a swig of beer before answering. "No."

" _No_? What about all that going-to-hell stuff you kept moaning about?"

"I thought you didn't believe in hell?" Carlton asked.

"I don't! But I'm not the statutory rapist!"

"Rodney!"

His friend paused on the other end. "That didn't come out right, sorry. I just meant -- you're doing this? Even though you know?"

Carlton stared down at the condensation on his beer. "Yeah. I think so."

"You're doing something more than thinking if you spent the weekend with him."

"True."

Rodney sighed. "I'm not good at -- well, this -- but...well, you know. Don't screw this up."

"This what?"

"Your life, mostly."

Carlton almost laughed. "I'll try my damnedest not to."

"Good." Rodney cleared his throat. "Now that that's out of the way, can I talk about why I was calling in first place?"

"Yeah, sure." Carlton leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. He needed the distraction. "Go for it."

**

For the first time in his life, Shawn cleaned up the house without either parent demanding it of him. As soon as Carlton left, Shawn busied himself with setting the house to rights, making sure that no trace of Carlton lingered in his wake.

It was one of those times that his special skills came in handy; he could scroll through his recollection of what every inch of the house looked like on Friday and make sure it looked exactly that way again. He'd even manage to notice and correct the slight misplacement of one of Henry's fishing trophies that Carlton had moved while admiring it.

Shawn washed and dried his sheets and then remade the bed, rinsed and put away all the dishes they'd used, stuffed the games that he and Gus hadn't played in years back into their corner of the closet, and finally took out the trash so no one would wonder why he'd ordered double the Chinese takeout than usual.

He was just settling down to catch the highlights of the FIFA matches he'd missed when Shawn heard the sound of the his parents pulling up in the driveway. For a moment, he was torn between relief and resentment: relief that Carlton had already cleared out and resentment that they'd come home early, unannounced. He wouldn't have put it past his father to have told him Wednesday when he always planned to return Tuesday, just to see if he could catch Shawn doing something wrong. 

As always, his mother acted overjoyed to see him, even though she'd only be away from him a few days. Being in an indulgent kind of mood -- at least as far as his mother was concerned -- Shawn let her fuss over him for a little while before she wandered away to start the tedious task of unpacking the luggage.

Henry, on the other hand, just eyed Shawn for a few minutes before he sat down beside him on the couch, staring at him as he said, "Shawn."

"Dad." Shawn answered in the same, flat tone.

"What did you do all weekend?"

Shawn glanced at Henry out of the corner of his eye. "Went to the 4th of July thing on Saturday with Gus. Fenich asked about you."

"He did?"

"Yeah," Shawn nodded. 

"Did you do anything else?" Henry wanted to know.

"Not really," Shawn lied smoothly, still staring at the television screen. "Hung around the house, watched the FIFA matches."

"Soccer?" Henry asked dubiously.

"Yeah. We lost."

His father was frowning at him. "I thought you were helping Costas with some odd jobs?"

"I am," Shawn said, the implied "so what?" clear in his tone.

"Don't tell me you blew off work just because I wasn't here to make sure you went."

Shawn stood up, dropping the remote on the couch with a thud. "No, _Dad_ , I didn't," he told him. "Costas is out of town all week to visit his family in Greece. Like I told you last week." He didn't wait for a reply for his dad; he just headed toward his bedroom, pausing to say goodnight to his mother as he passed.

He spent the remainder of the evening moping -- no other word for it -- in his bedroom, re-arranging things more out of a sense of boredom than anything. Not too long after he'd left his dad sitting in the living room, he heard his parents' low voices arguing from their bedroom and he sighed, figuring that whatever that weekend had been supposed to cure, it hadn't done its job because it didn't sound like they were any happier than they'd been before they left.

In hopes that it would drown out the droning sound of their voices, Shawn turned on the radio and tried to play some _Final Fantasy II_ but he just couldn't stay focused enough to care about Cecil, Kain and the rest of the gang. He finally called it a night and went to bed, though sleep didn't come as easily as he'd have liked, feeling inexplicably lonely after having Carlton with him constantly for the last few days.

Since Henry had all of Wednesday off from the station and plans to do some gardening, Shawn called Gus as soon as he rolled out of bed the next day and made his owns plans to get out of the house. He waved goodbye to his dad as they headed out, Henry busy in the yard as Gus navigated his way out of the driveway, pointing the LTD toward the beach.

"So where have you been all weekend?" Gus asked once they'd finally reached the their favorite stretch of beach. Instead of stepping out onto the sand, they circled around to the nearby smoothie stand.

"Around," Shawn said noncommittally, adding, "Don't give me that look, I called you like I said I would."

"I talked to you twice since then," Gus pointed out. "Saturday, after the picnic, and then this morning, so you could get away from your dad."

"I thought you had 'family stuff' to do," Shawn told him sourly.

Gus was watching him critically as they lined up behind a family of five at the smoothie stand. "You did it, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You saw him again!"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "You know I did! That's why I had you leave me on Saturday."

"No, I mean after that," Gus explained. He narrowed his eyes. "That's where you've been all weekend. With him!"

"And if I was?" Shawn singsonged. "What's the big deal?"

"You know what it is," Gus huffed. "This guy's too old for you, Shawn."

"Who says?"

"I say!" Gus said, pointing at him. "The law says! He could get in a lot of trouble."

"Really, Gus? I wasn't aware of that," Shawn told him, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Gus shrugged Shawn's tone away, as if he didn't bother him at all. "You've had a lot of bad ideas, Shawn, but this? Takes the cake."

"Well, I think you're dead wrong," Shawn announced as they reached the front of line. They paused in their discussion to order their smoothies -- pineapple for Shawn, strawberry-banana for Gus.

Once they had their drinks in hand and were headed back toward the sand, Gus continued with his objections. "Your dad will flip! And I don't know what he'll flip over more, the gay thing or the older-than-you thing or the his-coworker thing."

"Henry is _not_ going to find out about any of this," Shawn said, more serious than he'd ever been in his life. He well knew that his father would make sure that Carlton paid dearly if they were ever found out. 

"And how do you expect to keep it from him?" Gus scoffed. "You don't think he's not going to notice you hanging out with some guy he works with?" He shook his head. "Your dad's a detective, I don't know how you think you can fool him."

"We'll figure it out," Shawn told him.

"This isn't a good idea, Shawn," Gus said again. He actually looked troubled which brought Shawn up short. "You're going to get hurt."

Shawn shot him an incredulous look. "Okay, no more soaps for you, Gus!"

"I'm serious, Shawn!" Gus said defensively. "What did you tell me about Caitlin Hughes?"

"Never date a girl with four older brothers?"

"No," Gus shook his head. "Never get involved with someone who your best friend knows is bad news. Your turn to follow your own advice and listen to me when I say forget about this."

"Entirely different!" Shawn exclaimed, waving his smoothie around. "I told you that because she had four older brothers and her last boyfriend had an "accident" a week after he dumped her!"

"Shawn!"

"Gus..." Shawn stopped walking and turned to look at his friend. "I've got this covered."

"I'm just saying," Gus told him, sighing.

"Yeah, I know," Shawn said, nodding. "And I appreciate it but..."

"Okay, fine, whatever," Gus agreed. "Let's just not talk about it anymore."

Shawn agreed and quickly changed the subject. Although he and Gus didn't discuss it anymore, he could sometimes feel Gus's sideways glances, the disbelief that crept into the quiet minutes of their lazy afternoon. 

He knew that Gus was just trying to be a concerned friend and he did appreciate but Shawn had faith that he and Carlton could figure it out.


	9. Chapter 9

The bullpen was unusually quiet for the middle of the week but Carlton was grateful for the relative calm as he worked, his mind still a little more distractible than he wanted to admit. He was in the process of consolidating some of the notes he'd been taking during his ride along, compiling them into something more coherent than his off-the-cuff scribblings but he kept getting sidetracked -- by cases, by conversations, by thoughts about Shawn.

Despite his decision to see this thing with Shawn through, Carlton hadn't seen him since he'd left his house over a week ago and had yet to figure out a way to safely contact him without placing them in danger of being found out. He was already starting to feel restless; he could only imagine how someone as excitable as Shawn was reacting. Sometimes when he heard an overly loud voice, he was half-afraid that Shawn had gotten tired of waiting on him and had tracked him down at the station.

But he was going to figure it out eventually, he decided, ignoring the stab of guilt that assaulted as he sat at his desk at the SBPD and thought about how to further engage in illegal sexual activity with a minor whose father was around -- somewhere. He was starting to feel ridiculous but Carlton had realized in the last few days that he and Shawn had never discussed their last names. In some ways, it was probably better not to know, since now he was less likely to flinch if he ever he had to deal with Shawn's father at the station. But the ignorance was gnawing, too, and he spared glances at many of the casual acquaintances he'd made there, wondering if one of them was the man whose trust he was betraying.

Carlton's attention was just starting to fall back onto proper topics such as the organization of his observational notes when a din rose up in the near-silent bullpen. He looked up from his papers to see a deluge of people bursting into the station, the most notable of which was the handcuffed man that two uniforms was leading away for processing. The perp wasn't much older than Carlton, maybe in his early thirties, and he was dressed in the preppy-collegiate style that Carlton most associated with places of learning. Everything about the perp screamed 'average upstanding citizen,' a fact that made Carlton wonder what he'd done.

People were still milling around, asking questions, looking agitated when two detectives broke off from the horde, heading toward the relative sanity of their desks. Carlton recognized Monroe and Eagleton and he nodded at them as they walked past.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Monroe stopped to answer while Eagleton continued to his desk which was directly behind Carlton's temporary one. "A circus," he said grimly.

"I noticed." Carlton nodded toward the perp who was finally being led out of the room. "What he'd do?"

Monroe leaned against Carlton's desk, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Nasty case," he admitted. "It actually started a couple of months ago when we got some anonymous tips about a teacher taking advantage of students at one of the local high schools."

Carlton's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, exactly," Monroe nodded. "Anyway, we get a call a few days ago from this woman and she says she was going through her daughter's room when she was doing the cleaning and found all these letters -- you know the kind."

"The naughty kind," Eagleton clarified.

"Which isn't unusual when your kid's 16," Monroe continued. "But these are signed from a "David" and the only David the mom knows is her daughter's chemistry teacher."

"So that was...?"

Monroe nodded again. "Yeah, we got a warrant, searched his house, found the other half of the correspondence. Turns out he's been sleeping with her for most of the past school year."

"It's actually sad," Eagleton said. "From all reports, he was very good at his job. He won't be teaching after this, though."

"I don't think it's sad, I think it's stupid," Monroe declared. "If he hadn't been thinking with his dick instead of his head, he wouldn't be in this situation."

Eagleton was leaning forward in his seat, obviously about to reveal a little more when another burst of commotion had all three of them glancing toward the front desk. This time it wasn't a group of people but a single teenaged girl, followed by an older couple who were obviously her parents.

The girl was pretty, with long blonde hair and the kind of face Carlton was used to seeing in cosmetics ads. She would've been even more striking, he thought, if that face hadn't been twisted into a tormented expression of sadness, tears fresh in her eyes as she looked around frantically. Her gaze landed on the three men and she marched toward them, her parents following in her wake.

"What's she doing here?" Eagleton had time to mutter before the girl was upon them.

"You have to release him!" she told them, focused on Detective Monroe. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Sara..." Monroe began uneasily, raising his hands to placate her. "Calm down."

"No!" She was devastated but determined. "He shouldn't be in jail, he didn't do anything wrong! I consented!"

If Carlton had been in doubt of her identity before then, he certainly wouldn't have been after that revealing statement.

"Sara," her mother hissed, coming up to lay her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Stop this!"

"I'm sorry, Sara," Monroe said gently. "It doesn't matter, I told you that. You're underage and he's your teacher. That's statutory rape, no matter whether you wanted to or not."

"But I love him." Her words were whispered but they all heard them. "And he loves me."

Her mother tightened her hands on her daughter and finally managed to lead the sniffling teenager away. "I'm sorry," her father said, shaking his head, before he joined his wife and daughter.

Once the family was out of their vicinity, Monroe stood, scowling. "That's what gets me about these kinds of cases," he told Carlton, anger in his voice. "Sara King is going to be the one scarred by this for the rest of her life, not him."

Neither Carlton nor Eagleton knew what to say and Monroe mumbled some excuse before he headed off in the same general direction as the King family. Eagleton sighed and started rustling papers, obviously no longer interested in discussing the case. Carlton made a show of settling back down to work as well, but he knew it was useless. His mind was so far from work at the moment that he doubted he could concentrate on his notes on pain of death.

It was like a scene from his nightmares come to life. It was exactly the kind of scenario that Carlton had dreaded since he'd first learned that Shawn was only 17 years old, one that he'd rarely been able to push from his mind. The particulars weren't identical but the case was similar enough to his own that panic had gripped him with every word spoken by Monroe and Eagleton. 

Monroe's pointed comments had been the hardest to hear, mostly because they'd been true and had reinforced every negative thing he'd thought about himself. Like the chemistry teacher they'd just hauled in and booked, Carlton was risking the career he'd worked so hard for -- and for what? For the company of a kid he'd known all of a few months and who'd he'd spent maybe four days' worth of time with. Put that way -- taking the intimate immediacy of Shawn from the equation -- it was insane for him to even think about seeing Shawn again. 

Carlton was, as Monroe had said succinctly, thinking with his dick instead of his brain and if he didn't do something about it, he was going to come to the same bad end as the chemistry teacher.

One thing he was certain of: Carlton didn't want to be that teacher, making that walk of shame for the same crime, just like he didn't want Shawn to be the confused, blurry-eyed teenager left to deal the ramifications. It was a sad, bitter place and it was one that Carlton had no plans of ever visiting.

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit him, what he had to do. No matter how much he didn't want to, no matter how much it would hurt or feel wrong, Carlton had to end things with Shawn. Whatever they had, however much he wanted it, wasn't worth the trouble it would end up causing them both.

Now, he realized grimly, all he had to do was follow through with that decision and make sure that he never saw Shawn again.

**

Shawn was beginning to get antsy. 

It had been over a week since he'd last week Carlton and he'd yet to receive any communication from him. He knew that he'd tacitly agreed to let Carlton figure out how they were going to work out seeing each other but Shawn was impatient and with every passing day, his impatience only grew. He'd been close to tracking him down himself but he abandoned the plan after Gus had reminded him that he'd probably just end up getting Carlton in trouble.

That afternoon, though, Shawn was able to distract himself from thoughts of Carlton by a well-earned visit to the arcade. He'd spent all morning helping Costas -- now back from Greece -- with two of his bigger clients and the landscaper had paid him handsomely for his trouble. Feeling rich, Shawn had immediately hit the arcade and generously changed the first twenty dollar bill of the day into quarters to share with Gus.

Shawn was smugly kicking terrorist ass one of the arcade's crappier first person shooters when he felt the chill that came from the feeling that someone was watching him. Given his observational skills, it didn't take more than a quick dart of his eyes to see that someone was loitering a few feet away and Shawn casually holstered the blue plastic gun-shaped controller. When he spun quickly to face down his stalker, he was surprised and thrilled to see a solemn-faced Carlton watching him.

"Carly, I---"

He didn't get any farther before Carlton signaled for silence and motioned for Shawn to follow. With a stealthy glance to make sure that Gus didn't see him slip away, Shawn did as he was bid, following Carlton until he'd led him outside to the parking lot. Shawn was surprised to see that it was evening and twilight had fallen over the sky but he didn't spare much attention for the sky as he waited for Carlton to start speaking now that they were standing next to his car.

"So...?" Shawn said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "You found me."

"Yeah," Carlton said. "I did."

Shawn noticed that Carlton seemed -- unhappy, uncertain, grim. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Carlton told him.

Shawn gave him a speculative look. "You sure?"

Carlton nodded.

"How did you know I was here?" Shawn wanted to know, impressed. "Have I been lo-jacked or something?"

He shrugged. "I just took a chance."

Shawn smiled a little, opening his arms. "Well, here I am." He glanced around the parking lot to see if anyone was around; when he noted that they were mostly alone, Shawn stepped forward to put his arms around him but Carlton raised a hand to stop him. Shawn looked confused. "You sure you're okay, Carlton?"

"We need to talk," he declared and Shawn couldn't help the uneasy feeling that crept over him. 

He swallowed and nodded, leaning back against Carlton's car, arms folded. "Okay."

"I've been giving this some thought," Carlton began and Shawn didn't even have to interrupt him to ask what "this" was. "And it just -- we can't work this out."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I thought we went through this already."

"No," Carlton shook his head, eyes still grim. Shawn had never seen him so serious, not even when he'd been yelling at him the first morning after. "We just put off thinking about it."

"Carly..." Shawn wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like his words could make the issues disappear. No matter how persuasive he could be, he still wouldn't be eighteen for months.

"Shawn," Carlton said and it was in that steely cop voice he'd used on him before. " _I_ cannot do this. I don't want to do this."

"Now that's a lie," Shawn disagreed. "You can't say you don't want to!"

Carlton sighed, glancing away from Shawn. When he turned back to him, his eyes were harder, more determined. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"It wouldn't be anything, if you'd just get over yourself!" Shawn knew he was veering dangerously into the kind of petulant behavior he usually reserved for Henry but he couldn't help it. There was something cold and panicky clawing in his chest and it made him spew out whatever crossed his mind.

"No," Carlton said. "It's done."

Shawn didn't know what made him do it but he grabbed at Carlton's elbows, pulling him close. Before Carlton could pull away, Shawn wrapped his arms around him and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, bringing their mouths together in a heated kiss. He felt a little thrill of victory when Carlton instantly reacted, ravishing Shawn's mouth, curling his own hands in the fabric of Shawn's thin T-shirt. But, almost as quickly as he'd responded, Carlton was pushing Shawn away forcefully, almost shoving him in order to distance between them.

"Tell me you don't want to," Shawn challenge, breath quick, face flushed.

Carlton had a hand on his arm, as if to hold him at arm's length, and his grip tightened painfully. "It's not worth it to me."

Shawn wrenched away from Carlton as if he'd been burnt. "Not _worth_ it?"

"It's not."

There was a rushing sound in Shawn's ears; it took him a moment to realize it was his heartbeat. He blinked, staring at Carlton like he'd never seen him before and, in some ways, he felt like he hadn't. Carlton's face was closed, cold and expressionless and his voice had that steel edge Shawn only remembered from his few moments of anger at the college months ago. "You can't be serious."

"I could lose everything," he explained. "So, yes, I'm serious."

"But we could be careful! I---"

"It's been too much already," Carlton cut him off. "This is it. I -- don't expect to see me again."

"Carlton!" Shawn reached for him again.

"No! Shawn!" Carlton pushed him away. "Listen to me. It's done. I'm sorry but..."

"Fine." Shawn took the hint and drew back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like I told you before, I can't keep you anywhere you don't want to be."

For the first time, Carlton looked pained. "Shawn, I'm..."

"Don't say you're sorry," Shawn warned. "Or I will beat the shit out of you."

Carlton nodded. He looked at the ground, studying his shoes, obviously struggling to find words. "I hope...I...this isn't going to cause me any problems, is it? Because we're not doing this?"

For a minute, Shawn looked at him like he was crazy, confused beyond all comprehension but then slowly the meaning of Carlton's words sank in.

Shawn had never been so angry before in his life and, given that he was Henry Spencer's son, that said a great deal.

"I cannot believe you just asked me that," Shawn said. "I seriously can't believe you said that!"

"Shawn..." Carlton made as if to grab hold of him again but Shawn moved away. 

"You know what?" Shawn asked, turning around once more to look at Carlton. "Fuck you!"

Several people in the parking lot turned around at the sound of Shawn's loud exclamation but he didn't care. He didn't even care if Carlton was still watching him walk away. Shawn stalked his way across the parking lot, much too keyed up to go back inside. Instead, he sat down on the curb that separated the beachfront lot from the sand. He drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them, back pointedly turned toward the lot where Carlton's car might or might not have been. He sighed and lowered his head, staring down at the sandy asphalt beneath his feet.

He didn't know how long he sat like that but he eventually felt something nudge against his foot and looked up to see Gus standing there, tapping his own sneaker against Shawn's. Gus seemed uncharacteristically surprised and concerned as he met Shawn's eyes and Shawn wondered what his friend was seeing in his face. 

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?" he asked, scrubbing a quick hand over his face -- just in case.

"You okay?" Gus's voice was quiet and subdued.

"Yeah, just peachy," Shawn assured him as he stood up, brushing the sand and gravel from his pants. "You ready to go?"

"Sure, if you are."

"Oh, I think I'm pretty much done for the night," Shawn said dryly. 

"Let's ride then," Gus said and even went so far as to pat Shawn awkwardly on the back -- a sure sign to Shawn that he looked really upset.

He offered his friend a weak, grateful grin and the two padded over to the LTD. Shawn spared a glance over to where Carlton's car had been, not surprised to see that it was long gone.

They climbed into the old Ford and Gus shot him another concerned look. "You sure you're fine?"

"Absolutely, Gus. I'm fine. Or I will be. It's one or the other."

He hesitated but finally spoke. "Anything I can do?"

Shawn thought about it for a moment. "How do you feel about Mexico?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Many years -- and several trips to Mexico -- later..._

Of all the ways that Shawn Spencer had imagined meeting up with Carlton again, being interrogated by the now-detective and his partner-slash-girlfriend for a crime he hadn't committed had certainly never entered his mind; he didn't have that much imagination.

That meeting, though unexpected, had not taken Shawn entirely by surprise: he'd known that Carlton had gone on to be head detective of the SBPD. While he wouldn't quite call it stalking, Shawn had immediately recognized Carlton when the detective's picture appeared in the paper after the arrest of the infamous Backbay Killer -- an arrest made, of course, from Shawn's anonymous tip. 

It had seemed a strange little irony, then, that he'd helped Carlton -- no, Detective _Lassiter_ \-- with his work and Shawn had kept the news clipping on his fridge for about a week before Gus had started to ask questions.

After the interrogation, Shawn had wondered if he still had some leftover teen angst about the whole 'break-up' thing because he'd been an even bigger smartass than usual as soon as Carlton -- no, Lassiter -- had started asking questions. Not that the situation hadn't been worthy of disdain in and of itself; any respect he might've harbored for cops would've died in that room when Lassiter accused _him_ of being a criminal. But since he hadn't actually thought about Lassiter in years, he decided it had just been the absurdity of the situation that had raised his ire.

The summer after he'd finished high school...it hadn't been the best summer for him all around, Shawn remembered. Not only had there been the whole Carlton thing, but his parents' marriage had been on its last legs as well. It hadn't been a happy time in the Spencer household and Shawn had had the perfect opportunity to angst his way through his stupid teenaged crush and put it firmly behind him in time to help his mom through the divorce and hop a cruise ship to get away from Henry.

With the McCallum murders foremost in his mind, Shawn had hadn't much chance to think about the interesting reentrance of Lassiter into his life, although he had spared a quiet moment or two to be offended that the detective didn't seem to remember him. It wasn't until he and Gus were on their way to the police station to pick up their check for solving the Summerland murder that he had his first real opportunity to stop and think about it.

They were sitting in traffic in Gus's little blue car and, for once Shawn had no desire to drive. Instead he was staring out of the window while Gus was left to navigate through the traffic.

"I can't believe he didn't recognize me," Shawn said aloud, to no one in particular. "I'm totally more memorable than that!"

"Who?" Gus asked, frowning at the bumper-to-bumper traffic through the car windshield.

"Lassiter! He didn't even bat an eyelash."

Gus laughed. "I think Detective Lassiter knows exactly what you look like, Shawn, even though he probably wishes he'd never met you."

Shawn smirked. "He'd have to go way back in time to change that."

Gus shot Shawn a confused look from the corner of his eye. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed. "Gus, I'm ashamed of you, too. Don't you remember him?"

"Him who?"

"Lassiter!"

"I remember just fine, Shawn. I just met the man a few days ago."

Shawn was shaking his head. "Nope."

"Nope?"

"Nope," he said again. "You first met Lassiter -- oh, wow, over ten years ago now. At the SBPD's 4th of July picnic."

"Huh?"

Shawn twisted in his seat. "Let me set the scene for you, Gus. It was July, 1994 -- we'd just graduated from high school. You were on cloud nine because Patrice Taylor had stopped calling you a panty thief and started making out with you. I, on the other hand, was not quite so enthusiastic in the love department."

Gus thought for a minute, then snapped a finger. "You were moping over that old guy."

"Yep."

"What does that have to do with Lassiter?"

Shawn grinned. "That's where you first met him! Of course, he was younger, not a detective yet, actually had something that I like to call a 'sense of humor' and, boy, were you pissed when I decided to stay late at the picnic to talk to him."

Confusion marred Gus's face for a minute; Shawn was watching slyly from the corner of his eye. Shawn's smug smile only grew as realization spread over his friend's face, Gus's eyes going wide. "Nuh huh!"

"Uh huh!" Shawn replied. 

"That was Lassiter!?"

Shawn perfected one of his plastically coy expressions, fluttering his eyes. "I preferred Carly, Carlton in a pinch."

"You made out with Lassiter!" Gus shook his head in amazement. "That's so messed up."

"It does add a certain unexpected dimension to our working relationship," Shawn conceded.

Gus had slid from incredulity to amusement. "No wonder he hates your guts," he pointed out.

"That's the most troubling part, Gus. I don't think that has anything to do with it!" Shawn slumped back in his seat. "He doesn't even remember and/or recognize me."

Gus was back to incredulity. "He at least had to recognize your name."

"We didn't exactly exchange last names back then," he admitted. 

The line of cars started moving again and Gus was quiet for a moment as he concentrated on merging into the traffic flow. "Well, you have changed some since then. You know, appearance-wise."

"I know," Shawn grumbled. "But still? Seriously? There's not an ounce of recognition in his eyes, not even a vague niggling one! If there were, I'd notice it and there's not. This is totally bad for my ego."

"You should probably be glad he doesn't recognize you," Gus argued. "It would only make things worse."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," Gus nodded. "Look, I know it's hard for you to deal with the fact that your first love doesn't remember you, but the last thing..."

"Whoa, ho, ho. Lassiter was _not_ my first love, Gus."

"Yeah, right," Gus snorted. "He was just the first person you slept with, the first person I ever saw you mope about, and his refusing to ever see you again sent you into a depression the likes of which I've never seen on you before or since."

"I was 17!" Shawn objected. "Pimples are depressing when you're 17!"

"Whatever, Shawn," Gus rolled his eyes. "Say what you want but I was there."

They lapsed into silence after that, with Gus concentrating on the drive and Shawn mulling over his friend's words. In some small corner of his mind, he acknowledged that Gus had had a point about how much Carly -- Carlton -- _Lassiter_ had meant to him back then. But he'd been a stupid kid and, as Shawn had pointed out, everything felt epic at that age. Now that he was older and had better perspective, he was almost sure whatever he'd felt back then wasn't love. Not that he'd ever really been in love, but Shawn figured he'd know it when he did.

After what felt like the longest car ride ever -- or at least in the brief history of their psychic detective agency -- Shawn and Gus arrived at the station where they had another little 'thank you' powwow with the Chief before collecting their check from the cage. He was busy chatting with Allen about her grandmother's spirit when Gus elbowed him in the side.

"Yes, Gus? And, maybe I add, _ow_."

Gus nodded over his shoulder and Shawn followed the motion to see that Lassiter was heading their way. He could tell the moment that Lassiter noticed them from the tense posture and baleful glare.

"Detective! So nice to see you again," Shawn called out, much to Gus's obvious dismay.

Lassiter stopped and turned to glare daggers straight at Shawn. "Spencer," he growled. 

"It seems you were wrong," Shawn informed him, waving his check a little more emphasis. "I _did_ hear from the department again."

It probably wasn't the best thing to say but Shawn had never been known for tact. Beside him, Gus was looking heavenward, as if begging a higher power for guidance.

Lassiter just continued to glower. "Just because the Chief is fooled doesn't mean we all are."

"Fooled? No one's fooling anybody," Shawn told him in that patronizing mock-serious voice he'd perfected by about nineteen. "I'm just using my god-given skills to help make the world a better place."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and looked ready to throttle him. Gus hid a similar reaction by turning back toward Allen. 

"I'm going to figure you out, Spencer," Lassiter told him, stepping into his space threateningly -- not that Shawn felt threatened. "So just do everyone a favor and drop the act now."

"Maybe if you spent more time actually trying to solve crime and less harassing innocent _helpful_ citizens, the Chief wouldn't need to call me."

"Shawn!" Gus hissed angrily. Shawn ignored him and kept his smiling countenance fixed on Lassiter.

The tips of Lassiter's ears were turning red, a sure sign he was about to explode. He reined it in, though, and only growled, "I've got your number" before stalking away.

"Of course you do!" Shawn called after his hunched back. "I'm in the book!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Gus demanded in low, hot tones once Lassiter was far away. "Are you trying to get him to kill you?"

"He's not going to kill me," Shawn assured him. "At least I don't think he will. He's too goody-goody for that. Always has been." 

"You didn't have to wind him up like that," Gus said, disapproving.

"I owed him one or two," Shawn said vaguely, hand going up to the fading mark on his forehead from where it had made contact with the roof on a red Crown Vic.

"We're so dead," Gus sighed.

"No, Gus, no we're not!" Shawn argued. "In fact, we're very much alive." He raised the check to his forehead and fluttered his eyes closed. "In fact...this check is telling me something. It's telling me that we'll have another case within a week, so we should celebrate now by cashing it and going out for jerk chicken. And maybe some pineapple cake."

Despite himself, Gus smiled. "I know that's right. Let's get out of here."

As they headed toward the exit, Shawn paused and glanced back across the bullpen once more, eyes easily narrowing onto Lassiter, sitting at his desk. He was talking with partner-slash-girlfriend, which made Shawn roll his eyes and wonder how long that was going to last now that everyone knew about it. He doubted Berry would be able to take the rumors; and if Lassiter still had anything in common with the Carlton Shawn remembered, he wouldn't be very comfortable with the speculation either.

When Gus motioned for him to hurry, Shawn turned his back on the detectives, a little knowing grin playing on his mouth. At least he'd be around to see what happened and he was an adult now -- Carly wouldn't be able to run him off when he got tired of him like he had last time.

"What are you smiling about?" Gus wanted to know as he unlocked the car doors.

"Nothing," Shawn grinned. "Just thinking about how much I'm going to like this psychic gig."

**

Carlton Lassiter had never been a fan of change. The last major change he'd went through was over a year before when his wife had decided to kick him out of the house and that particular occurrence was indicative of his experience with change. Change was upheaval, chaos, the anathema to law and order, things that Carlton had spent his whole life upholding.

So when Carlton's life suddenly became a maelstrom of change, he was far from happy about it.

First, Chief Fenich retired and City Hall had sent Karen Vick to replace him. While Carlton had no problems with Vick personally, a pregnant woman -- an outsider, to boot -- coming in to take his mentor's place was proving to be a very challenging transition for him. Of course, had that been his only 'transition,' he might not have felt so unsettled. 

There was also Lucinda: their relationship had changed from partners to friends to lovers in a very short time, and just as he'd been getting used to it, she had decided to transfer away and end their fledging personal relationship. Though she cited family issues in her decision, Carlton was sharp enough to know that the gossip hadn't made things any easier for either of them. He understood her decision and even supported it since the relationship had become strained on all sides but it was still yet another adjustment he had to make.

Then there was O'Hara, his sickeningly sweet new partner, come to him straight from Miami. She was green but smart; the only problem was that she wouldn't know a personal boundary if she tripped over it and, for all her smarts, she just hadn't learned how to make a partnership work as of yet. Carton was sure that, given time, she'd figure it out but at the moment, O'Hara was driving him up the wall.

And, of course, there was Spencer, the so-called psychic private investigator whose sole purpose in breathing seemed to be to piss him off and screw over his cases. Comparatively, Vick, Berry and O'Hara were ripples in the pond where Spencer was more akin to a tsunami whirling through Lassiter's life and leaving chaos in his wake.

Carlton didn't believe for a minute that Spencer was psychic; he'd stopped believing in fairy tales before he was five and psychic powers were just as much make-believe as anything in a Brothers Grimm tale. He might've been a little more receptive had the so-called psychic been something other than an obnoxious idiot who fell into melodramatic flailings and spasming whenever he wanted attention. That he'd managed to solve the McCallum and Summerland murders proved nothing to Carlton other than that Spencer had some inside track; it certainly didn't mean he was psychic or even a mediocre detective.

There was something about Spencer -- Carlton couldn't quite put his finger on it but Spencer rattled him, made him uneasy. It had started the moment that he'd walked into the interrogation room with his blasé attitude and fantastic stories about solving crimes by watching the news. Something had immediately set his teeth on edge when it came to Spencer and that feeling hadn't abated since.

That something worried him, even when Spencer wasn't around. He'd first noticed that fact right in the middle of the personnel transitions that had Berry leaving and O'Hara coming in. He'd been restless for a few nights, mind preoccupied with an important robbery case he was handling solo, and he'd hoped that the night before the sting to catch the culprit was set to be sprung, he'd be able to rest easy knowing the end was near. He'd slept better than he had the previous nights but his dreams had been unexpectedly tense and fragmented and he'd awoke with vague impressions of his dreamscape. The only thing that he remembered clearly was that Spencer had been a part of it.

It was for that reason and a few others that Carlton had been shocked to see Spencer at the sting the next morning. So shocked, in fact, he'd almost panicked after the fact when Spencer had waved at him from the counter of the diner. Later, he'd asked O'Hara about her speaking with him and she'd explained their conversation, marveling over Spencer's ability. Carlton had chosen to keep silent on the matter but he'd remained rattled for most of the day, glad that the case was behind him.

Of course, he'd barely put that behind him and Spencer was underfoot again, this time at the spelling bee. As had proved his MO, Spencer waltzed in, made a mockery of the police procedure and had badgered him, O'Hara and the chief with his nonsense. Carlton knew he'd overstepped some bounds in the heated discussion that had erupted in Vick's office, the worst of which being his snappish "Cut him loose, Karen" directed at his superior. Usually, he didn't make those kinds of missteps and it irritated him that he had -- another thing he blamed on Spencer. It didn't help that Spencer was as hostile toward him as he felt like he needed to be in return.

After they'd processed the elder Prochazka and O'Hara was busy contacting the proper authorities in Social Services to collect Jiri and take him into custody, Vick pulled Carlton aside.

"I apologize for my earlier outburst," he said immediately, hoping to forestall the reprimand. "It will not happen again, Chief."

"Oh, I'm sure it won't," Vick assured him, giving him a pointed look over the expanse of her desk as they both sat. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about -- precisely."

Carlton decided silence was his best option.

Vick seemed to agree because she pressed on. "Lassiter, I'm aware that you have reservations -- serious reservations about Mr. Spencer."

"He's a fraud," he said immediately. "I don't buy this psychic act for one minute."

"I've noticed," Vick said. "But, be that as it may, Mr. Spencer has proved extremely helpful these last few weeks and I seriously doubt you've seen the last of him around here."

"Chief..."

"I'm not asking you to believe him," she hurriedly continued. "But I am asking you not to make things more difficult than they needs to be." Carlton opened his mouth but Vick cut him off. "The point, Lassiter, is to cooperate."

"Cooperate," he repeated, sourly.

"Yes, cooperate," she emphasized. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Now, go see how your new partner is doing with Social Services."

Carlton took the opportunity and left, tackling the loose ends of the murder-and-sabotage case with a vengeance born of frustration and irritation and, if he was honest, a bit of self-disgust that it had taken Spencer to break it in the first place.

He'd mostly worked off his aggression with some quality time at the range and satisfactory progress at tying up loose ends the next day when Spencer and his sidekick showed up at the station to gloat and get paid for their services. Carlton rolled his eyes as Spencer stopped to chat with McNab while Guster grabbed the check but, as he moved to pointedly turn his back on Spencer, he noticed that the so-called psychic was still wincing in pain from whatever injury he'd sustained from Prochazka's "warning." He'd first noticed the injury in the Chief's office but hadn't realized its cause until Spencer had elaborated on it at the Spelling Bee. It was one of the many crimes to which Miklos Prochazka had confessed once they'd had him in custody.

Spencer must've noticed his passing curiosity because he looked his way. "Afternoon, Detective."

"Spencer," Lassiter acknowledged grudgingly.

Spencer peered around him to get a good look at the bullpen. "Where's that lovely new partner of yours?"

"Busy," he deadpanned.

"A shame," he said. "It's also a shame that Detective Berry is gone already, you know? I was looking forward to working with her again." 

Carlton chose not to answer and headed back to his desk. Spencer limped along with him, much to his dismay.

"Awfully coincidental timing, huh?" Spencer said, leaning against Carlton's desk. "Funny how things worked out."

"Detective Berry had some family obligations that demanded her attention," Carlton said through gritted teeth. "Now, don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Always," Shawn said, balancing on his bag leg as he turned to go. "Just gotta say, though, Detective...I _really_ admire the way you've handled...things." He took a few hobbling steps before he stopped to add, "Hope your new partner doesn't end up with any of the same 'family obligations' as Detective Berry, eh?"

It was physically painful for Carlton to hold back on the things he wanted to say in the face of Spencer's smartass comments but he refrained, mostly because the Chief was just within earshot and Spencer's handler was already dragging him away toward the exit.

He tried to shrug it off, put Spencer and his snide smartass comments behind him but he couldn't shake the feeling that Spencer was insinuating more than his belief that Carlton had mistreated Berry in the wake of their relationship. 

Carlton snorted; he was obviously giving Spencer too much credit, he decided. For the 'psychic' to be suggesting something he'd have to have subtlety, intelligence, wit -- things Carlton was sure he lacked.

But he couldn't quite forget O'Hara's awe at what Spencer had known about her upon their first meeting at that diner, her amazement at what he'd known about her parents, her cats, her move and how she'd wondered aloud where he could gain such knowledge if, as Lassiter believed, it wasn't through psychic powers.

"It's weird," she'd explained. "To think that someone you've just met can know things about you like that. Especially if you have things you'd rather keep to yourself."

Carlton knew that feeling well; it was just another reason on a long list of why he didn't want Spencer around.


	11. Chapter 11

Though Shawn tried not to dwell, he had to admit that it was frustrating that Lassiter didn't seem to have any clue who he was. 

He assumed -- maybe incorrectly -- that Lassiter did remember him, as in Shawn, as in the kid he'd been when they'd met over a decade earlier but that there was something standing between those memories and the present because the detective wasn't drawing the right connection between Shawn-of-the-past and the Shawn Spencer who'd he recently tried to arrest.

Shawn didn't think he'd changed _that_ much in the intervening years and Lassiter hadn't changed much at all but memory was a strange thing. In fact, he sometimes had a hard time remembering that other people didn't remember the same way he did and couldn't recall things anywhere close to his ability. He didn't have any trouble remembering Carlton; if he concentrated, Shawn could remember exactly what it felt like the first time he touched him, still such a vivid image in his head that he could feel himself shivering as he thought about it.

On one hand, Shawn knew that Gus was right and they were all better off that Lassiter didn't know the truth. After all, the detective could hardly stand him as is -- if he knew Shawn-the-psychic was Shawn-the-teenager, Lassiter would be probably spend a hell of a lot more time trying to get him thrown in jail or out of town. He doubted Lassiter would like having a constant reminder of that indiscretion in his face all the time, solving the crimes that he couldn't.

But then, there was another side of Shawn that found it incredibly offensive that Carlton didn't recognize him. The lingering melodramatic notions of his teenaged self aside, it wasn't very flattering to be forgotten, even if their time together had been confined to less than a week's worth of hours spread over three months ten years earlier. It made him want to do something crazy just to shake Carly up.

Fortunately -- or unfortunately -- Gus's good sense was rubbing off on him and he'd been able to hold back the urge -- even when Lassiter seemed intent on doing things to make Shawn crazy.

When Lassiter had escorted him out of his impromptu meeting with Lacey, Bethany and Dylan, the feel of Lassiter's arm looped around him had sent him back but Shawn hadn't been fooled for a minute; he'd almost been expecting the not-so-gentle throw against the stone wall that followed. Of course, Shawn gave as good as he got, in no way feeling guilty for using his knowledge of young Lassiter to make his point with the older one. He figured that a good Catholic boy wouldn't like his crack about the Bible and he'd been rewarded with Lassiter's reaction.

Shawn had tried to put the arousing aspect of the encounter behind him and focus on his annoyance. It was bad enough that something that pissed him off so badly also left him sexually frustrated but it was doubly worse that he was the only one getting the residuals from those old memories while Lassiter remained irritatingly unaffected.

Then he'd been in the middle of one his better psychic episodes when Lassiter had decided to take it all to the next level in the Hotel De La Cruz kitchen. This time he'd hadn't been expecting it at all; he especially hadn't expected them to end up in a tangle of limbs that reminded Shawn of those few great days they'd spent together before but he'd been forcibly reminded as Lassiter had wrested with him, bodies sliding and rubbing together in a fine facsimile of frottage, if Shawn did say so himself. He was even more surprised that they both didn't walk away from it as hard as nails but he supposed that Juliet's discovery of Dietrich Manheim's dead body had put a damper on the situation. 

Shawn found it strange how Lassiter had no problem laying hands on him, their bodies touching in ways that weren't considered intimate only because they'd been fully clothed. Even clothed, Shawn felt a couple of the positions they'd been in were still pretty damn intimate: the last time Lassiter had had Shawn's leg hooked over his arm like he'd had there at the end, Shawn had been losing the absolute last vestiges of his virginity and that was pretty damn intimate in anyone's book.

Not that Lassiter seemed to remember it, Shawn thought sourly. Bastard.

But it seemed that even if Lassiter's mind had forgotten who Shawn was, his body hadn't and he was taking liberties that only made sense in the context of a past that the detective seemed oblivious to.

Shawn wasn't sure how he felt about that.

After the arrival of the Attorney General aborted Lassiter's attempt to have them tossed out, Shawn and Gus made themselves scare, happy for the reprieve. Shawn treated Gus to lunch in the De La Cruz's restaurant -- courtesy of Lassiter's room tab, of course.

"They had to get that ring some other way," Gus said around a mouthful of fries, picking up their earlier thread of conversation. "There's no way they busted into that safe and left it unmarked."

Shawn was staring off into space, thinking. "We've gotta be missing something, then. The ring was stolen and I need to figure out how, so I can figure out who. Lassiter isn't going to catch them and someone's got to." When he refocused on his friend, he noticed that Gus suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. "What?"

"Nothing," Gus lied, rather unconvincingly. Shawn's eyebrow rose dubiously and Gus rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. You sure Lassiter hasn't figured out about...?"

"What?"

"You...and him...and..."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I'm absolutely sure. Why?"

"That thing in the kitchen? Weird, man." Gus paused to take a drink from his soda. "I'm just saying."

"Yes, it was," Shawn admitted. "But I don't have time to think about him anymore. I've got a robbery to solve!"

"Anymore?" Gus looked torn between amusement and worry. "So you've been thinking about Lassiter?"

"A little," Shawn said vaguely. "Today, however, he's mostly taken a backseat to the ring and the lovely, lovely Lacey."

"This is just like the McCallum thing," Gus griped. "You need to forget about Lacey until we're done."

"No can do, my friend," Shawn said, gloating. "She's part of the case and I would be remiss if I didn't pay her the proper attention, don't you think? I mean, she was the last one to see the ring before it went poof."

Gus pushed aside his plate. "She was?"

Shawn went still for a moment, flashing back to the footage he'd seen while spying on Lassiter's briefing. "Yes, I'm pretty sure she was. It was a little hard to tell from the angle I was watching from but..." He snapped his fingers and started to rise from his seat. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Gus demanded to know as he followed him out of the restaurant.

"To get our hands on a copy of that footage," he declared. "We'll start there. There's got to be something that the cops missed."

The rest of the case was a whirlwind of activity and less sleep than Shawn would've chosen to have if he hadn't been under such a pressing deadline. He was definitely sad that his criminal turned out to be Lacey because he'd already spent a lot of time thinking about what he wanted to do with those magic hands come their Friday date, but he was willing to concede that sleeping with a killer might not have been the best way to deal with his sexual frustrations, no matter how hot she was.

The wedding reception, at least, was a vast improvement over the wedding ceremony, even if Gus spent most of the time shooting him evil looks. Shawn thought he did a particularly good job on the toast that the best man had botched, and the remaining bridesmaids, Amber and Miranda, did their level-best to make sure that Shawn didn't miss Lacey's presence too badly. Shawn danced every dance he could, made good use of the open bar, and still had time to make it to the police station before the cops had finished booking Lacey.

"I bet this isn't the way she was expecting this day to end," Gus observed as they watched Lacey be led past, ignoring Shawn's discussion of his imaginary, future wedding.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, sighing. "What a waste."

When Gus excused himself to take an important call from the office, Shawn meandered over into the bullpen, hoping to find Juliet for another round of 'impress the new detective with my amazing psychic powers.' It had worked well so far and he figured that, aside from the Chief who was willing to ignore the improbability of it if she got the answers, Detective O'Hara was his best bet for an ally at the station.

O'Hara was nowhere to be found but Lassiter was at his desk, looking just as sour and unhappy as he had been before he'd left the hotel. Shawn also noticed that he was still frowning at what looked like his hotel bill.

Shawn shoved his hands down into the pockets of his dress pants and put on that patented look of innocence that he'd perfected long ago. He whistled a little just for good measure and Lassiter almost immediately noticed him, sighing as if he were being besieged by a biblical plague instead of a slightly-rumpled, slightly-inebriated, slightly psychic.

"I thought I told you to get out of my sight," Lassiter ground out.

Shawn shrugged, hands still in his pockets. "That was hours ago! I figured you'd be missing me by now."

"Spencer, you'd have to be gone a really long time before I'd even contemplate missing you."

Shawn bit his tongue to keep from saying something like _Oh? Wasn't twelve years enough?_ because he was positive that if he did either Lassiter or Gus would kill him before he could escape the station. "That's very harsh of you, Detective," he said instead. "First, I solve your crime and then I come all this way to say hello and this is how you repay me?"

"Speaking of repaying..." Lassiter's glare turned even more deadly as he rattled the sheets of paper at him. "Don't think I'm not going to prove this was all you and don't think you won't be paying for it."

He made a tsking sound by clicking his tongue. "This obsession of yours? Flattering but...misguided. You really just need to move on."

Lassiter had that look on his face again -- the one where he looked like he was going to explode -- so Shawn decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat. He sauntered away but he couldn't stop himself from turning around one more and add, "Don't worry, I'll come visit you some other time when you're in a better mood."

He left the detective sputtering in his wake.

When he caught up with Gus finishing his phone conversation outside of the police station, his friend shot him a look. "What's got you so pleased with yourself?" Gus asked, obviously dreading the answer.

Shawn grinned. "Oh, you know -- just the satisfaction of a job well done."

Gus looked dubious but accepted the answer and Shawn's memory surrounding the case left him smiling for days.

**

He didn't know when he'd first started thinking it, but Carlton had slowly started to label his days good or bad depending on whether or not Spencer was lurking around the station. There was nothing he hated more than to look up from his work to see Spencer loitering around or to arrive back from an interview to the unmistakable sight of Spencer's motorcycle parked in plain view.

Frankly, Carlton was uncomfortable with the idea that Spencer could, in such an absolute way, dictate his feelings and actions even though it had become embarrassingly apparent that he could from almost their first meeting. He was a good cop; he knew how to do his job and he'd risen through the ranks of detective as quickly as he had because of it. He'd had always played by the rules, kept his head in stressful situations, reined in his temper to such a degree that even Fenich had been impressed. It made him a good detective, a clear thinker, the perfect candidate for head detective and, one day, chief.

But it seemed like every time Spencer came into the picture, none of it held true and Carlton couldn't trust himself to act accordingly. Since he'd met Spencer in that first interrogation, he'd acted inappropriately during an investigation more times than he had in his first ten years of service combined. It was embarrassing and frustrating to think that someone like Spencer could drive him to it, especially when Carlton knew he should be better than any of the pretend psychic's antics.

Whenever Spencer was around, sense flew out the window. That wasn't a usual state for Carlton Lassiter; he'd always prided himself on his cool head. Of course, there had been times in the past when he had acted with a thoughtless disregard of consequences but it had been a long time ago --

Carlton ruthlessly shut down his wandering train of thought, clamping down on the memories to which it had been leading. Like everyone in the world, there was things he'd done in his past that he was ashamed of, that he regretted but he refused to dwell on them. In fact, he chose to do the opposite and hide them so deeply in the back of his mind that he rarely, if ever, accessed them. It had worked for him for a long time and it was just another thing he could blame on Spencer.

He'd still been trying to put some of his angry, deplorable behavior behind him from the Maxwell case when the Holby bank robbery landed on his desk again. With the two living members of the gang being released from prison, it fell to him and O'Hara to warn Raylene Wilcroft that her late husband's partners might come calling on her, intent on finding the missing money. They weren't the only ones who wanted to find the money, either -- Carlton hoped that they'd eventually lead him to its recovery as well.

Carlton and O'Hara had been talking to Raylene for no more than a few minutes when Carlton's bad day came walking over to sell his psychic freakshow to the widow Wilcroft. It was a sign of things to come, he knew, and it made Lassiter want to strangle the smirking psychic right there on the spot.

As always, Spencer sent logic flying out of the equation.

It didn't help that he eventually figured it all out, proving that Carlton had been way off the mark. David Wilcroft, alive? Raylene, as much of a threat as either ex-con? His mind just hadn't moved in those directions, not once during the original investigation or the current one.

The strangest moments, though, came when Spencer tried to give him credit in front of Chief Vick. It might've seemed magnanimous -- as O'Hara chided him later -- but Lassiter knew better than that. Shawn Spencer had probably never done a selfless thing in his life and it had been obvious that he had some ulterior motive. Carlton's first guess about trying to get him to admit that he was psychic had seemed solid at the time but the detective was no longer sure if it was Spencer's ultimate motivation. Of course, with someone like Spencer, there might not have ever been a real motivation behind the things he said; he just took delight in shocking people, in Carlton's opinion.

"What am I going to say now?" Spencer had said and that was the problem -- he was completely unpredictable. That also meant that he was completely untrustworthy and undependable, which were two things a cop couldn't have in a partner. If he and O'Hara couldn't trust his words or deeds, then he was useless, no matter how much his "psychic visions" helped.

Worst of all, Lassiter felt like he was starting to be the only sane one who remembered these things. It was obvious that the Chief put more stock than he thought wise in Spencer and his "private psychic detective" act and O'Hara seemed to be getting sucked in with a kind of naivety that Carlton found tiring in children, let alone adult police detectives.

The week was made even more unbearable by Spencer's triumphant arrival a few days later, a little dustier than usual but face so bright with glee that Lassiter had to blink and refocus before he realized that Spencer was talking at him.

"Lassy, up!" he demanded, gesturing with his hands. "You, too, Juliet! The spirits have spoken and have shown me the money!"

Eventually, he, O'Hara, the chief and a few uniforms followed Spencer and Guster out to the L-Kaylish Trail where Spencer said the spirits had led them. 

"It's here," he assured them. "I can...feel it."

Carlton rolled his eyes but followed behind the shovel-wielding psychic as he led them through the turns of the mostly defunct trail. Finally they came upon an oddly shaped rock off to the side of a clearing and Spencer started having epileptic fits, thus denoting it as the location of the money.

Spencer and Guster helped the uniforms dig until they hit something solid -- an old suitcase. When they opened it up to reveal the missing Holby millions, O'Hara almost clapped in delight, Guster looked pleased and Spencer elbowed him with an "I told you so" look on his face.

"Aren't you happy?" Spencer demanded after the elbowing. "The money has been found!"

Only the Chief's presence kept Carlton was saying what he wanted to say.

Spencer, he noticed, had smudges of dirt all over his face, a particularly dark streak along one cheek. His clothes hadn't fared much better than his face. Carlton made a show of sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. "You got lucky."

"Oh, Lassy," he sighed. "When will you learn better?"

"It's not happening, Spencer."

Spencer shook a grimy finger in his direction. "It's already happened. You? Just need to accept it here." On "here" he laid a dirty palm against Carlton's pristinely white dress shirt, right where his heart would be. Before Carlton could protest properly, Spencer lifted his hand from Carlton's shirt -- only to tap the same dirty fingers against Lassiter's temple. "You already know it here."

As Carlton reached out -- probably to throttle him -- Spencer skipped away, heading determinedly toward the Chief where she stood speaking with the forensics team who were in charge of transporting the money.

O'Hara chose that moment to walk over. "Carlton, you have a little..." She indicated her temple.

He rolled his eyes as he reached for his handkerchief. "I know."

Her eyes moved down to his shirt. "And a little..."

"I know, O'Hara!"

Vaguely offended, O'Hara wandered off again, leaving Carlton to glare at Spencer's back from across the clearing.

Lassiter was thankful when their tech guys finished up and the group started their trek out of the trail. Once they reached the loop's gate, Carlton and O'Hara went straight toward the Crown Vic, their work finished. Carlton himself couldn't wait to be able to mark this money's recovery off of his case list, satisfied that it had been found, even if Spencer had been the one to do it.

Unfortunately, the detectives had to pass by Spencer and Guster as they were loading their shovels into the hatchback. There was a uniform standing with him, a young female officer who'd only recently transferred into their station.

"...solved?" Carlton heard her ask as they brushed by.

"Wow, now it's this, and the Summerland murder, and the Maxwell ring case and...well, of course, the McCallum murders. That's one of my more -- well, impressive -- cases, you know."

He couldn't keep himself from commenting, stopping to look back at Spencer. "Don't you ever get tired of bringing that up?"

Spencer's expression went -- blank, was the only word Lassiter could think of -- for a moment before it settled into a provocatively knowing expression, complete with half-raised eyebrow. "Well, you know what they say, Lassy. You never forget your first."

Once again, Lassiter was left with the feeling that Spencer was talking about more than just the McCallum murders but he shook the paranoia away and stomped off to his car, O'Hara trailing behind.

It was just one of many days made 'bad' thanks to Spencer.


	12. Chapter 12

After a month of solving cases, Shawn had to admit that he was surprised that he was still so excited about it. Usually by the time he'd put a month into a job, he was already starting to shop for new options, even if he hung around for a few more months. To have reached that point and still be eager for work was an entirely new experience for him.

He was getting comfortable, downright homey with his psychic shtick -- maybe even a little too comfortable. Shawn wasn't sure how he felt about his lack of wanderlust but the comfort that he got from the familiar routine of his days were starting to make him feel unsettled in all sorts of new ways.

It was even worse because all of this unsettling comfort was making him careless. Shawn wasn't used to being around the same people for any length of time, unless those people were Gus, so to have a rapport grow up between him and Juliet and Buzz and the chief -- it was just weird.

He was also getting more careless around Lassiter, something that he just couldn't afford. At first, he'd been offended that the detective didn't recognize him as the 17-year-old he used to be, but he'd come to agree with Gus that it was probably the best for all concerned. Lassiter had gotten married and, from all accounts, still loved his wife very deeply. The last thing that Catholic boy would want would be a reminder of his indiscretion with an underage teenaged boy -- and Lassiter already made things harder for Shawn than they needed to be. There was no reason to give him more ammo. 

So Shawn couldn't help but wonder if all this comfort was a good thing or not, especially as he set about working to prove that all the suicides happening around the city were the murders he knew them to be. His first mistake had been at the scene of Gloria Starks's death when he'd slipped and called him "Carly." It hadn't been until he and Gus had been climbing back into the car that he'd even realized he'd said it and, for a moment, he'd been thoroughly aghast -- not only that he'd made such a gaffe but at the unexpected spike of pain it dredged up. 

He might've cut himself some slack about it if he hadn't had turned around and dazzled and stretched himself right into another mistake. Sitting on Lassiter's lap had been a stupid move and something he'd done without much thinking about it; while teasing Lassy was always at the forefront of his mind when it came to his 'psychic' episodes, he just didn't feel like that kind of joke was worth the risk.

Neither did Gus, he learned later, who took great pains to tell him so.

"And don't think I didn't notice what you called him earlier," Gus had finished with. "Shawn, you are playing with fire here and you need to stop it before he figures it out."

Shawn agreed and couldn't help but curse the comfortable, homey feeling he now had for his police friends -- which, of course, included Lassiter. It made him uneasy that he actually cared if Buzz was making his wedding weight or if the Chief's back ached now that the end of her pregnancy was near or if Juliet liked to hang out with him and Gus because she missed her brothers back home. It also bothered him that his memories of 'Carlton' were slowing blurring into the ones he had of 'Lassiter,' only making things that much more complicated.

It just all made him feel like he was about to jump out of his skin.

At least they managed to save Buzz from Hiltonbock and Shawn was genuinely relieved by that fact and the fact that he'd found a good home for the little boy cat. It was lucky -- something he learned later -- that the soon-to-be Mrs. McNab was a veterinary technician and absolutely adored animals.

He'd also gotten the rare compliment from Lassiter for his trouble and Shawn wasn't sure how he felt about it because it made some place inside him giddy and another part of him jumpy and panicked. Since his contradictory feelings didn't track with earth logic, Shawn chose to do the smart thing and ignore both of them.

Shawn decided to stop by the station the next day to bring Buzz all the accoutrements he'd bought for the little boy cat, including a fluffy cat bed, some food and a little squeaky toy mouse. He bundled it all up in a box that he left with the thankful McNab, accepting the policeman's lavish thanks once again. After a few more pats on the back from other cops who'd heard the story of the night before, Shawn turned around and found himself unexpectedly face-to-face with Lassiter.

"Lassy," Shawn nodded in greeting, a little guarded.

"Spencer," Lassiter said in return. The detective looked around. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to bring Buzz some stuff for the little boy cat."

"Shawn," Lassiter said.

Shawn narrowed his eyes, confused and a little unnerved by the unexpected sound of his name on Lassiter's lip. "Yes?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes and Shawn relaxed. "That's what he named the cat," he explained. "After you."

"Really?" Shawn perked up, glanced back over toward where he'd last seen McNab. "That's so sweet!"

"Yeah, sure," Lassiter replied dubiously.

"Seriously, it is," Shawn explained. "The last thing named after me was Gus's goldfish when we were eight and I'm sure you can imagine the tragic ending I'm building up to."

For a minute he thought he was seeing things because Lassiter actually looked like he was on the verge of a grin. "I've heard it all before, believe me. I have a nephew about that age."

It made him inexplicably happy that he and Lassiter had managed to have something like a normal conversation and that insane fact must've shown on his face because suddenly Lassiter looked away, uncomfortable. 

Shawn sighed as everything suddenly felt awkward. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. So many vibrations, so little time."

"Spencer..." 

Shawn turned back around to face Lassiter. "Yes, Detective?"

Lassiter still looked uncomfortable but he began to speak. "McNab's a good man," he said. "Good to know that he's going to have a chance to see this wedding day."

It took Shawn a moment to translate Lassiter's guy-speak but he finally realized that it was as close as he was ever going to come to an actual thank-you from the detective. 

He grinned. "Me, too," he admitted. "Nabby's not the only one who's been practicing his mambo for the reception, you know."

Lassiter must've recognized Shawn's guy-speak for "you're welcome" because he nodded. "See you around, Spencer," he said before he started to walk away.

"I've gotten really good!" Shawn called out to his back.

"Goodbye, Spencer!"

"I could you give some pointers, if you want! You've definitely got the legs for it!"

"Get out of here, Spencer!"

Shawn smiled at Lassiter's back as he headed into the Chief's office before he picked up the pace and hoofed it to the front of the station where Gus was due to pick him up for lunch. While he waited, he reflected on how strange it was that his conversation with Lassiter had left him feeling a lot better than he'd felt when he'd walked in an hour before, but he decided to believe it was more about knowing that Shawn the little boy cat was his namesake than it was about Lassiter being nice to him.

When he hopped into the car with Gus, his friend immediately asked, "Did the chief give us a new case?"

"No," Shawn said. "I told you I just came to see Buzz."

"Oh." Gus sounded disappointed and -- perplexed. 

"Why did you think that I had a new case?"

Gus shrugged, throwing the car into gear. "You just had that new case gleam in your eye."

"I have a gleam?" 

"Yes," Gus said. "You do."

"Well, it must be a misnamed gleam because I don't have a new case," Shawn told him. 

"Make a hot date with that new uniform?" Gus guessed.

Shawn threaded his hands together and hooked them behind his head. "Nope."

"Then what has you so...?"

"So...?"

"Up."

"Nothing," Shawn assured him. "I went in, saw Nabs, talked to Lassiter and came outside."

"You talked to Lassiter? And that made you happy?" Gus didn't seem convinced.

"He thanked me," Shawn admitted. "It was...nice."

"Nice," Gus snorted. "You're asking for trouble, Shawn."

"I know," Shawn told him. "I know."

The fact that Gus was right didn't mean it meant any less.

**

As much as it had pained him to admit it, Carlton was thankful that Spencer had broke the pseudo-suicide cases, saving McNab from being Hiltonbock's last victim where he and O'Hara had failed. He still didn't believe that Spencer was psychic but he had proved helpful at the end and the case was solved, so he was willing to be magnanimous -- if only a little.

That tiny shred of gratitude was why Carlton turned a blind eye to Spencer's stalkerish presence at his weekend reenactment practices. He found it annoying but hardly worth the effort; in fact, he figured Spencer would be more likely to stop if he didn't get the attention he wanted from watching them. So Carlton ignored it for the most part, though he sent a few dirty looks toward Spencer's favorite spying spot when he noticed him trying to toss candy into the 'injured' men's mouths during one of the rehearsals.

Despite his resolve, though, ignoring Spencer wasn't easy. In fact, Carlton noticed that it seemed to be more difficult with every passing day. It was like he was hyperaware whenever the so-called psychic was around, noticing dozens of little things that he needn't about Spencer before he could turn his attention back to whatever matter was actually at hand. Spencer was -- distracting, Carlton noted, but it was hardly anything new; he'd been one big walking distraction since he'd first flailed his way out of being arrested. What was new to the equation was how often Lassiter was letting himself be distracted.

It wasn't just at practices, either; it was also at the station and that was something that Carlton couldn't afford, especially since O'Hara had already noticed it enough to remark on it twice. The first time had hardly been his fault because he didn't know a soul who wouldn't have been distracted by the sight of Spencer prancing around in Vick's office with his cat nearby, but the second time didn't have the same easy explanation since all Spencer had been doing was loitering in the station like always. He decided that it had to have something to do with the minute amount of respect he'd gained for him thanks to his catching Hiltonbock. His mind was probably just trying to reconcile the completely alien concepts of 'respect' and 'Spencer.'

But as their reenactment practices dwindled and dress rehearsal was upon them, Carlton was glad to be noticing Spencer's omnipresence less and less, so much so that it was almost surprised him to hear that voice ring out over the park as he spoke with Sally about her missed cue. He might have congratulated himself on it later if he suddenly hadn't been faced with Nelson Poe's death.

Carlton loved the Civil War reenactments in which he participated; as an undergraduate he'd minored in History and had never lost his love for it, even once he'd left it behind for other disciplines. It was usually one of the most relaxing parts of the year for him but this year was proving to be the exception to the rule -- first with Spencer distracting him, then with Nelson Poe dying in what he knew hadn't been an accident, though he'd said the opposite to Spencer. But just as Spencer had seen in his "vision," people were rarely shot through the heart accidentally.

As always, Spencer's propensity to follow him around and make smartass comments grated on Carlton's nerves as he worked to solve the case, keep everyone else from abandoning the reenactment as well as cobble together enough time to actually practice for the event. There was also his own guilty feelings to deal with because, in some way, he felt like he had failed Nelson -- after all, the man had been murdered with over a dozen cops surrounding him. It was one of the reasons that Carlton was so determined to catch the culprit, even when it appeared to be mild-mannered dentist George Cheslow.

The fact that Spencer beat him to Cheslow was another annoyance, especially since he spent the next morning chasing him around to tell him that he was wrong about it. It wasn't as if Carlton _wanted_ Cheslow to be the guilty but everything pointed to it and Lassiter didn't have the virtue of relying on psychic feelings or crazy dreams instead of hard evidence.

"Lassy, Lassy, Lassy," Spencer called out as he caught back up with the detective after he left Vick's office. "First, I'd like to apologize about that woman crack."

"Accepted. Now go away." Lassiter shot him a steely look.

"But, seriously, George? No way he did it!" Spencer was still walking alongside of him, and Carlton noticed that he was wearing a red shirt and it reminded him of the Maxwell case for some reason. 

He shook his head, partially to disagree and partially to clear the distracting thoughts. "Look, Spencer, I didn't want it to be George. I like him as well as the next guy. But the evidence is there."

"Well the evidence is wrong," Spencer told him emphatically. "We're talking about a guy who couldn't bear to feed live crickets to the class lizard -- not exactly the sign of a cold-blooded murderer, you know."

Carlton stopped to stare at him in confusion which Spencer must've noticed because he added, "Sixth grade Science, Mrs. Stefano's class."

"As touching as your lizard story is, it doesn't help me jack," Carlton told him. "All the evidence points to Cheslow."

"It's still wrong," Spencer argued. "And I will prove it. And when I do, I want that press conference you promised me!"

Carlton was saved from having to reply by Spencer's sudden notice of the time and his quick exit which the detective was quite thankful for. Even with the Poe murderer caught, there was still evidence to be gathered and he had several other cases on his plate, too many to want the constant distraction that was Spencer hanging around. 

Even he was aware of how busy he was, Carlton didn't notice until it was well into the evening that he had too much to do for him to be able to join the rest of the regiment for the campout on the grounds. He needed to get an early start in the morning if he wanted to have all the loose ends tied up before the actual reenactment took place on top of all the other cases he'd been juggling before Nelson had been murdered. Still, he hated to feel like he was abandoning his men, so Carlton decided to swing by and check on things before he headed home.

When he arrived at the grounds, Carlton made his way around, talking to all the men sitting among the period tents they'd erected. His eyebrows rose when he came upon a tent that was equipped with more technology than he had in his whole house and he wasn't surprised to find Guster sitting in the bean bag chair that the tech surrounded.

"Guster," Lassiter shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

Guster struggled to his feet, his ridiculously-plumed hat -- at least it was period -- bobbing with his scrambling movement. "Don't look at me, Detective, you know this wasn't my idea."

Carlton conceded the point with a nod. He'd learned early on that Spencer was the mastermind to any schemes the two found themselves in. After the McCallum case, he'd done some checking into Burton Guster, too, and had been surprised by what he learned. Guster's life on paper presented as the exact opposite of Spencer's: he was college-educated, had a stable job, good credit, an all-around upstanding citizen. Carlton had often wondered why Guster let Spencer upset his life the way he seemed to.

"Why do you go along with all this?" he heard himself asking, taking advantage of the rare occurrence of catching Guster without his psychic hanger-on.

Guster looked confused. "What?"

"With Spencer and his..." Carlton made a motion with his hand that stood in for the words he couldn't quite decide on. "...all this."

Suddenly Guster was frowning, looking more icy than Carlton had ever seen the normally level-keeled man. "Shawn's my best friend," he said, voice cool.

"And that's it?"

Guster's chin rose. "I know he can do this, that he's good at it." He paused. "Better than most."

"Huh." Carlton wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't expected the fierce show of loyalty at his bland question but perhaps he should have. Still, it made him want to reevaluate Spencer in his mind; there had to be something there to inspire someone to such lengths of stupid, blind devotion. "I'll leave you to your...game, Guster."

"'Night, Detective," Guster said warily as Carlton continued on his rounds.

It was when he reached Sally Reynolds talking with a few of the soldiers that he learned of Spencer's fall from the bridge a little earlier in the evening. From the humor that even Sally was showing at the memory, Carlton was sad he'd missed it. Watching Spencer tumble ass over teakettle would've been the highlight of the reenactment so far. 

Given what he heard, he hadn't expected to find Spencer sitting on the side of the little bridge, legs dangling over its edge as he stared out over the darkened fields. He was surprised by the sight of Spencer half-dressed in a period Union uniform, pants, boots and loose white shirt. Spencer had the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a few of the buttons around the neck undone and his suspenders were hanging loose against his legs. 

"Spencer," Carlton called out in greeting, secretly pleased to startle him out of his reverie. "Heard you took a little trip earlier."

"Ha, ha."

"Sorry I missed it," he said honestly.

Spencer glanced back at him, a strange look on his face that Carlton couldn't read in the darkness. "If you want me on my ass, Lassy, all you have to do is ask."

Lassiter snorted. "I'd rather see you _out_ on your ass."

Spencer smirked, then jerked his chin in Carlton's direction. "You're not in uniform, Colonel."

Carlton looked down at his usual suit-and-tie work ensemble. "Can't stay. Got a lot to do in the morning."

"Really?" he asked, rising to his feet. Carlton watched as Spencer idly brushed his hands against his pants, as if he clean them. "Me, too."

"Really?" he asked dubiously.

"Got a killer to catch," Spencer explained, turning around to look straight at him. "If I don't, it looks like the local law enforcement will let him go free."

"Spencer," Carlton sighed, much too tired for this argument again. "You really just need to let it go."

Spencer stared at him for a moment, a little smirk playing on his lips. "Have a nice night, Colonel," he said, as he turned to walk away. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Unfortunately, Spencer's declaration proved correct and he did see him the next day when the psychic located the bullet that had killed Nelson -- helpful but hardly an exoneration of Cheslow. For a few days, his life was wonderfully Spencer-free and he assumed that the pair had given up on the case -- until he turned around right after the reenactment to see the whole regiment disappearing down a manhole like Alice's damn white rabbit.

The next thing he knew, they were all back at the station, Mahoney in custody as Spencer explained what had really been happening under the cover of the reenactment. On one hand, Lassiter was glad that Cheslow hadn't been the murderer but he knew he was never going to live down the litany of "I told you so" that Guster and Spencer had already started. 

As soon as he'd finished with Mahoney and Sally Reynolds, Carlton made a beeline to the locker rooms. He'd come straight from the reenactment and was still in his Civil War era garb. He was also hot, sticky and the wool of the collar of the uniform jacket was starting to itch, as was the gum he'd used to apply his fake whiskers. He ducked into one of the men's bathrooms and efficiently removed the fake whiskers with the correct solution, the skin still tender from being treated so roughly earlier in the week. After that, he swung by his desk and collected the bag with the change of clothes that he liked to keep on hand for just such emergencies. The khakis and polo shirt weren't exactly his usual work attire but they would do.

Carlton had expected to find the locker room empty since it was in the middle of a shift and few people would have need for it. He walked into the locker room to find that he'd been seriously mistaken.

Spencer was in there as well, obviously with the same idea as Carlton. He was already stripped down to how Carlton had seen him the night of the campout, just the white shirt and the pants, but minus the boots. As the detective came around to the end of the rows of lockers, Spencer was pulling off the linen shirt, easily lifting the fabric over his head. Carlton watched the muscles work in Spencer's back as the shirt was tossed aside, his eyes roaming over the smooth planes of tanned skin. As his eyes dipped along its line to settle at the last bit of back just above the waistband, Carlton Lassiter was suddenly hit by a realization that left him gasping for breath, nerveless fingers dropping his bag in shock.

Spencer heard the noise of the bag falling and half-turned so that he was facing Lassiter. Carlton ran his eyes over the skin now bared to him, chest and shoulders and arms, down from the collarbone to the navel just above the heavy, blue cloth. 

"Hey, Lassy," Spencer said, unconcerned with his nakedness or Lassiter's presence. He was grabbing a brightly-colored T-shirt from the bench and he stopped to squint at him. "What, no face wig?"

Lassiter hadn't quite regained his ability to speak.

If Spencer noticed he didn't comment on it as he kept speaking, voice muffled as he pulled the blue shirt over his head. "I hope you used something to get it off this time. That last time looked painful."

Carlton touched his smooth chin. "It was."

Finally it dawned on Spencer that maybe Carlton shouldn't be standing there like an idiot; he stilled, still dressed in the uniform pants, his bare toes wiggling against the tiled floor. "Is, um, something wrong?"

Carlton snapped back to himself. "Let me know when you're finished in here," he ordered harshly -- hoarsely -- before grabbing his bag and beating a hasty retreat.

"It's not like I have cooties!" Spencer's fading voice protested as Carlton stepped out into the cooler air of the hallway.

He leaned against the wall to catch his breath, still shaken by what he'd discovered about himself, by what he'd been hiding from his own recognition. It all made sense -- the distraction, the annoyance, the little details he couldn't help but remember.

Carlton scrubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long time since he'd last found himself physically attracted to another man; it was something dead and buried in his past, something he'd never thought he'd have to deal with again.

Now that it wasn't so dead and buried, Carlton wasn't sure what the hell he was going to do about it.


	13. Chapter 13

For the first time in a very long time, Carlton's work problems took a backseat to the personal issues that had been plaguing him for almost a week. It had all started with his horrific epiphany at the end of the Nelson Poe case, that terrible moment in which he'd realized _why_ Shawn Spencer rattled him so much.

Carlton was attracted to him.

It didn't sound earth-shattering, even as he repeated it in his own mind, but it was -- at least, for Carlton. Although he'd experimented in college, he'd met his wife at a picnic right when he'd been finishing up his Master's degree and they'd started dating before the summer had been over. Not since the last -- experiment -- just before that had Carlton looked or thought about another man in a sexual way and, even though he didn't quite believe it, he figured he'd just been "cured" of his bisexuality by the love of a good woman.

Unfortunately, that good woman's love had soured in the last few years, which was the other personal issue preying on his mind: his wife's birthday was approaching. Carlton knew he needed to do something to mark the occasion, use it as proof that all the counseling and therapy had paid off and he acknowledged the issues she'd brought up about his inattention and dedication to his job. He wanted to prove to Jennifer that they could make it work if she'd give him another chance.

Even when he'd been involved with Lucinda, Carlton's goal had always been to repair his marriage. For almost two years, he -- and, to a lesser extent, Jenny -- had been trying to figure out a way to revive what, in the beginning, had been a good relationship and a great marriage. He hadn't been looking for either when he'd met her through Lorraine Fenich, his mentor's wife, but Jennifer had been everything he'd ever wanted in a woman and he'd had surprised by how quickly they'd both realized that they were perfectly suited. They had chosen to wait a little on marriage but they'd eventually tied the knot and had had several happy years before the cracks had started to show.

It was a strange situation for Lassiter to be in turmoil over two such disparate problems: the love for his wife and the sinking certainty that there was nothing he could do to save their marriage and the lust he suddenly had for someone he could barely stand on a normal basis. The fact that he'd fixated on _Spencer_ of all people only made his shame more acute, more horrifying but even Carlton no longer had enough denial in him to continue to lie to himself about what he wanted -- and what he wanted was to have sex with Spencer.

Work wasn't the haven it had once been, especially not with Spencer showing up whenever he pleased. He had some luck left in him because some private case had kept most of Spencer's attention away from the station, leaving him and O'Hara free to deal with Dr. Blinn's murder without his interference. Their paths had still crossed in the course of the investigation and Carlton had been gripped with the insane need to snap Spencer's neck every time. He supposed his therapist would call it sublimation or misplaced anger but Carlton was quite happy with it being right where it was -- directed at Spencer, instead of himself.

He'd also been sure to send Jenny a birthday present, those figurines she'd been collecting ever since she was a child, something she'd once said her grandmother had started her on. Carlton hoped she accepted it for what it was -- a gift, a sign, a chance. Their last sessions had been far from productive and it had been several months she had spoken to him, other than the occasional call from her attorney. After the last spurn, he'd tried to give her room she needed and it hadn't been too long after that that he'd started his relationship with Berry.

The case and the conundrum of the missing Regina Kane managed to keep him distracted from most of his problems even though he occasionally spared a stray thought to wonder how Jenny liked her gifts or to speculate as to why Spencer had suddenly disappeared from the case. Mostly, though, he focused on Blinn and his case files and hoped that his canvassing of the neighborhood would pay off.

When his present for Jenny arrived back at the station with her oh-so-succinct note, Carlton was surprised by the blanket of calm fury that came over him. It wasn't even hurt, which he would've expected, but instead a kind of determined grimness he hadn't felt in a long time. With that feeling building inside him, a trip to the shooting range to demolish those ugly little figurines had been the best idea he'd had in days.

It was like his universe felt the need to converge in catastrophic ways because he'd been finishing up a satisfying round of target practice when O'Hara burst in to let him know that Spencer and Guster had come looking for him. Carlton couldn't believe that O'Hara had been thoughtless enough to leave them anywhere near his desk and files without supervision and he cursed under his breath as he hurried to the bullpen -- only to be subject to another one of Spencer's "episodes." Although he didn't believe that Spencer was psychic, he'd learned to heed his warnings in life-or-death situations and so Lassiter sprinted out of the station with O'Hara, Spencer and Guster on his heels.

A few days later he was going over the psychiatric evaluations that went with the case, adding them to file along with the note that Robert Dunn/Martin Brody/Regina Kane would be sent to the highly respected Ace T. Windsor Center for treatment. It wasn't exactly how he'd expected to see the murder wrapped up, but at least it was closed and Dunn would get the help he needed; Carlton almost empathized with the problem. Sometimes he _felt_ like he had two different people inside him, wanting two entirely different things but it was only an analogy for him -- he was glad that he'd never suffered the kind of trauma it took to make it a literal problem.

Carlton had also made a decision about Jenny sometime in those few days. It was obvious that his overtures weren't helping; her note had been the height of irritation and, now that the anger had faded, he felt some of its intended sting. It was a long time coming but he realized that he was no longer in control of the situation. There was nothing he could do but give her the space she wanted and hope for the best, hope that those months of therapy and counseling would work and she'd come back to him. He realized how unlikely that hope was, especially after all that time, but he let himself hold onto it anyway. It was enough of a chance to let his mind rest easy and he found it frightening as well as exhilarating to let himself be content with his decision.

That only left him with the other problem -- Spencer.

His computer chose that moment to beep and announce that he had a new piece of mail in his office email account. Frowning, Lassiter clicked through until he could see the name in the "FROM" box.

Shawn Spencer.

Carlton rolled his eyes but clicked to open the email anyway.

"Hey, Lassy," the email began, much like Spencer usually did. "First off, no need to thank us for solving your murder case, it's all in a day's work for your favorite head psychic! Of course, I've got this parking ticket that could be taken care of, just so you know. Second off, I want to say thanks to whoever got it fixed for Robert to go to that Ace place for treatment, it's real cool of you guys."

It closed with nothing more than "SHAWN" typed in all capitals a few lines down from the last sentence.

Unfortunately, Spencer -- and Carlton's attraction to him -- wasn't a problem he could lay aside, like he had his problems with Jenny. Spencer was there, in his face, almost every day, underfoot, bothering him like little else could. Now that he'd admitted it to himself, Carlton almost felt stupid to have ignored it so long: the way he watched him, the way he thought about him, the way Spencer pissed him off -- it was so obvious. He'd known from early on that he didn't deal with Spencer the way he usually did with people he didn't like and that should've been his first clue.

The fact was that he was definitely attracted to Spencer. The problem was he didn't want to be.

Sighing, Carlton hit reply on the email and quickly typed out a message: "Spencer, who told you that you could email me at work? You bother me enough as it is. Don't add virtual harassment to your list of crimes." 

He didn't sign it but his email signature stating his name, position and cell-phone number was automatically attached.

No sooner than he'd turned back to the Dunn case file, he was alerted to a new email, again from Spencer.

"Actually, you were the one who told me to email you, Lassy, back when we were working on the Nelson Poe case. I just assumed it was an open invitation. And I don't know what list of crimes you're talking about because I seemed to be the one SOLVING the crimes, not committing them."

Before Carlton could think about what he was doing, he was hitting reply again. "You don't consider fraud and perjury a crime?"

Another quick answer. "Of course I do! I just don't remember doing either of those -- unless you've been in touch with the Federales. Then I've probably done that and more."

"Spencer, thoughts of the damage you could do in Tijuana could keep a man up nights. Thank God, it's out of my jurisdiction."

"Okay, Lassy, should a Catholic boy be typing GOD? Isn't that sacrilegious? You know, LIKE THROWING BIBLES AT PYSCHICS? And you think about me all night? That's sweet, Detective, really it is."

It shouldn't have been funny, least of all to Carlton, but something about Spencer's insanity -- as apparent in email as it was in person -- managed to charm him enough that he smiled, shaking his head at the computer screen as he decided to be act his age and decease with the juvenile note-passing. Carlton had just minimized his Outlook when O'Hara came by to leave a few more files with him.

"You're looking better today," she noted happily. "Not nearly so cranky."

He was tempted to snap at her if only to divert the discussion away from his recent bad mood, but when he glanced up at her, O'Hara's eyes were shining with concern and he just didn't have it in him. "Personal crap," he explained, as if it explained anything. 

"So it's better now?"

"Handled," he offered.

O'Hara smiled. "Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. You really look very...not grumpy today, Carlton."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment, O'Hara?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

O'Hara didn't reply; instead she just nodded and headed over to her desk, leaving Carlton to wonder what exactly about the day had miraculously changed him from "cranky" to "not grumpy."

**

The day of the McNab-Falconeri wedding dawned clear and bright, not a cloud in the sky and Shawn Spencer was grateful for that fact.

The marriage of two of his newest favorite people had already seen its share of hardships: first, there had been Buzz's brush with death at Hiltonbock's hand; then problems with Nonna Falconeri flying in from Italy; and, most disheartening, an unavoidable postponement due to a mix-up with double bookings at their chapel of choice.

Ironically, Shawn had been able to help out the last one, pulling a few strings with some old friends to find the couple another -- and, dare he say it -- nicer chapel that they'd been able to book at the last minute. So the wedding was on again, set for only two weeks later than its original date. Shawn was just glad that the Falconeri women were doing their own cooking; he didn't know any caterers who owed him big time like Father Bernardo 'Bernie' Caselli did and a change in the date would've been disastrous.

The only disappointment for the otherwise perfect day was that baby Vick's precipitous arrival during her mother's trip to the police seminar meant that the Chief would be unable to attend the blessed occasion. Instead she'd be at home with the new little girl baby that, in Shawn's estimation, already had the supremely good taste of having a crush on him.

The last time Shawn had attended a wedding, it had been the Maxwell wedding where he'd working a case. This time, though, he was attending strictly for the fun and excitement of watching Nabby and the lovely Francie Falconeri get hitched and he was actually excited about it. Food, music, fun -- what more could a guy want on a bright Saturday afternoon?

Juliet, who had no date to call her own, had agreed to be escorted to the shindig by "the two coolest turkeys in Santa Barbara County." After way too much girly fretting, Jules had decided to wear a soft pink dress and had her hair all twisted up, making her look much more dainty and fragile than she did when she was flashing her badge and sporting her piece. 

Gus -- ever the fashion maven -- was appropriately stylish in a nice gray suit with a purplish tie and coordinating shirt. Shawn was wearing the same suit he'd bought and hadn't been able to return after the Maxwell wedding but he'd swapped that tie for another silvery-striped one. 

Shawn had to admit that they made a very striking trio, sitting on the groom's side of the aisle as they watched the beaming bride be escorted to the altar by her equally proud papa. Lassiter was there, too, by himself at the back of the church, looking more like a pall bearer than a wedding guest. Shawn was almost surprised he even showed; the breakdown of Lassy's marriage was the worst kept secret at the station and everyone had been waiting for McNab's nuptial haze of happiness to piss the head detective off again. 

Shawn shot Lassiter a look and a little wave before turning around to watch the actual ceremony.

When it came time for the reception, Shawn found that he and Gus were sharing a table with Juliet, Lassiter, and the two empty seats that had been intended for the Vicks. Lassiter didn't seem pleased with the seating arrangements, scowling at all of them as he sat down. 

"It was such a nice ceremony," Juliet commented when no one else seemed inclined to talk. "Really beautiful."

"Yes, it was," Shawn nodded. "My favorite part was when Buzz couldn't find the rings and had to turn out all his pockets."

Gus smothered a laugh into his napkin as Juliet shot Shawn a reproving look.

She tried to draw Lassiter into their chitchat but he was even more uncommunicative than usual. Shawn knew a lot about tells and Lassiter was presenting every tick imaginable for stressed, tense, uncomfortable. His grip around his dinner fork left him white-knuckled and the tension in his jaw made Shawn's ache in sympathy. He didn't understand why Lassy had even bothered to show up if he was going to sit there and look miserable all afternoon.

Gus eventually showed his good sense and escaped the uncomfortable silence by asking Juliet to dance. As they moved to join the other couples mingling on the dance floor, Shawn found himself left alone with a thoroughly unhappy Lassiter who was still holding onto his fork for dear life.

As the detective reached for his water goblet, Shawn couldn't help but say something. "Better watch it," he advised. "Hold that like you've been holding your fork and it'll shatter in your hands and that'll be whole different kind of mess and I'm just not that good with blood."

Lassiter glared at him as usual. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Shawn laughed, taking a sip of his own water. "You're a very bad liar, Lassy. I guess it's a good thing you became a cop."

"Spencer, you don't know anything about me, so just keep your 'psychic' opinions to yourself, hmm?" Lassiter busied himself with pushing his salad around on his plate.

He didn't have much willpower but Shawn used all he had to bite his tongue -- literally -- to keep himself from revealing anything. He hated when his good sense got in the way of messing with Lassiter and while it would almost be worth it to use his inside track from years ago to play the psychic card with Lassiter, he refrained.

But just barely. He actually tasted blood.

"Okay," Shawn conceded. Lassiter looked surprised, then horrified as Shawn continued. "So how about we take this unexpected though not unappreciated together time to change that?"

"Change _what_?"

"The fact that I don't know anything about you," Shawn said. "Well -- I _know_ things, of course, but I try to keep my third eye away from friends and colleagues as much as possible, unless you want me to make an exception?"

He was vaguely concerned when Lassiter almost choked on a radish.

"What exactly do you have in mind, Spencer?"

"Twenty questions," he said immediately. "We go back and forth, one question at a time. You back out of a question, you have to do something totally crazy to make up for it."

"Isn't that called Truth or Dare?"

"Not at all," Shawn promised. "Because here you don't get to pick exactly. And...we'll be stopping at twenty! Make sense?"

"You rarely make sense," Lassiter told him.

Shawn grinned. "Coming from you, I take that as a compliment."

Lassiter just shook his head.

"Game? Okay, good, I'll start," Shawn began. "How about...hmm...maybe..."

"Just ask a damn question already."

"Do you still have your face wig from the Civil War thing?"

Lassiter looked like he wasn't going to answer and Shawn was about to repeat the question when the detective finally said, "Yes, I do."

"Oh really?" Shawn asked, grinning, eyebrows raised.

Lassiter ignored him.

"Okay, your turn," Shawn told him, making a "gimme" motion with his hands. "Lay it on me, Lassy."  
"This is a waste of time," Lassiter said. 

"Oh, come on now, be a sport! Ask me a question."

"No."

"Fine," Shawn told him, leaning back in his chair. "Then I'm just going to have to give you a dare."

"What? That's not in the rules of either Twenty Questions _or_ Truth or Dare."

"Well, them's my rules and they're much more fun than the usual boring ones."

When Shawn glanced back, Lassiter was looking at him strangely -- not meanly, just intently, a contemplative sternness to his face that usually meant he was trying to figure something out.

"What?" Shawn wanted to know, loosening the knot of his tie, suddenly restrictive around his neck.

Lassiter looked away. "Nothing," he mumbled but Shawn could sense something was wrong. He glanced over his shoulder toward the dance floor where the bride and groom were sharing their first dance as man and wife. He decided that Lassy's discomfort must have had something to do with that.

Shawn was trying to figure out something else to say when Gus and Juliet returned to the table, Juliet flushed and beaming. 

"Well, someone looks like they've been having a good time," Shawn smirked, wagging his eyebrows.

"Gus is a very good dancer," Juliet announced as she sat down, Gus holding her seat for her.

"He owes it all to me," Shawn explained.

"No, I don't," Gus argued as he took his seat.

"Yes, you do."

"Shawn, I took Promenade all during junior high!"

"Yes, but why?" he asked meaningfully.

"Because my mom wanted me to!"

"Exactly!" Shawn crowed. "Who do you think talked her into it?"

Gus shot his friend a dark look and it was Juliet's turn to stifle a laugh behind her napkin. Their easy conversation still seemed to exclude the dour detective seated with them and Shawn didn't have any idea on how to include Lassiter when he was working so hard to be left out.

Juliet looked as if she wanted to ask a question but before she could open her mouth, the band started up with the first unmistakable strains of a song. As if one, everyone at the table turned toward the dance floor, watching as Buzz led a laughing Francie onto the dance floor to a smattering of clapping.

"Is that that annoying Lou Bega song?" Gus asked aloud, watching as Buzz and Francie did something that bore a passing resemblance to the mambo.

"With a little bit of Rita, even," Shawn nodded, rolling the "R" in "Rita" dramatically.

"Mambo No. 4?" Juliet tentatively guessed.

"No. 5," Lassiter said, surprising them all as they whipped around to look at him. "What?"

"Never thought Lou Bega was your speed," Shawn admitted.

Lassiter snorted. "Just because you damage your eardrums with that kind of bubblegum crap doesn't mean everyone does, Spencer. Mambo No. 5 happens to be a classic by Perez Prado, despite what later imitators did to it."

"I didn't know you liked music, Carlton," Juliet said in delight.

Lassiter rolled his eyes but remained silent.

"This is a whole new smoking side of you," Shawn said approvingly. "No wonder you didn't take me up on those private lessons I offered." He added a little wink to the end of his statement, knowing...

"What private lessons?" Gus demanded to know, shooting Shawn a warning look.

"Whaddya say, Lassy?" Shawn said, ignoring Gus. "You, me, the mambo? I'll even let you lead!" He moved his foot fast enough to keep Gus from trodding on it.

Lassiter just glared. "I'll pass."

Shawn shrugged. "Your loss," he told him, rising from his seat. He turned his smile onto Juliet. "Come on, Jules. You know you want to. I hear it in my mind, your secret wishes..." He affected the 'fake Juliet' voice he'd used at their first meeting. "Oh, please, oh, please, Shawn, ask me to mambo with you! I _need_ to mambo with you."

Juliet was almost laughing too hard to reply. "I think something's off with your psychic powers, today."

He tilted his head and gave her his best adorably pleading look. "Fair Juliet, I ask for your hand. Please do me the honor of this dance." He half-bowed for effect.

She nodded and stood. "Why not?"

"She's a good sport," he said, taking her hand. As he led the pretty detective out onto the floor and got their bodies moving in a fair representation of the dance, Shawn couldn't help but shoot a quick glance over Jules's shoulder back at his table.

What he saw almost made him falter but he covered quickly. Gus was frowning at him, glaring -- which Shawn had expected. Gus never liked when Shawn said provocative things around Lassiter and was never impressed when he flirted shamelessly with Juliet and he'd just done both in less than two minutes.

But Lassiter...Lassiter was glaring at them with more animosity than he'd been able to muster for Shawn in the last case or two, staring them down with a kind of vengeance that made Shawn want to duck behind the bandstand to get away from it. Shawn looked from Lassiter to Juliet, thoughts racing, coming up with explanations.

For some reason, the conclusion he drew about Lassy's propensity to fall for his pretty, blonde junior partners left Shawn with a sick feeling in his stomach that he couldn't explain away, no matter how much he tried.


	14. Chapter 14

When Carlton finally made it home after the long day at the station, he was too tired to do more than drop his briefcase at the door and plant himself on the sofa, content with the ringing silence of his rented house. Two murders had been solved that day -- one over twenty years old -- and that should've been worth the exhaustion and even the bloody nose.

And it would've been -- if he'd been the one to solve the cases.

He hadn't, though. Instead it had been Spencer who'd stepped up and done what he hadn't, recognizing the supposed mountain lion mauling for what it was and vindicating Captain Connor's decades-old suspicions about Zoe Sharpe's demise. 

Carlton should've been happy and he supposed he was. The murderers were in jail, justice had been served and the Chief of Police was due to recognize Connor's invaluable assistance -- there wasn't much more he could want in the closing of a murder case. But the fact remained that every time Spencer stepped in and solved one of his cases with his usual hapless laziness, it irritated Carlton to no end. There were plenty of cases that he worked fine without "psychic" involvement but the ones he remembered were the ones where he failed and Spencer swooped in to do what he couldn't. 

It wasn't only in the professional sphere that Spencer tended to make his blood boil. Carlton's head was filled with him and it didn't seem to matter what he tried to do about it, there was no escape. His attraction to Spencer wasn't only an irritant in that it complicated his work and haunted him in personal hours, it also dredged up memories from his past he thought better left forgotten. It had been over a decade since Carlton had felt even a flicker of sexual desire for another man and using the term "man" to describe that particular person was a laughable exaggeration if he'd ever heard one.

Except that it wasn't funny, even years later.

Everyone made mistakes, Carlton knew that. Good people sometimes did bad things when the situation presented itself -- it was something he'd seen too much in his years as a cop. But what Carlton had done all those years ago wasn't that since he'd known exactly what he'd been doing and that it had been wrong and he'd still done it -- until his conscience had finally strangled him back onto the straight path.

But it hadn't stopped him from wanting it and, in some ways, that was the worst part.

Even in the happy years of his marriage, Carlton had sometimes had dreams about -- the past. He still refused to think of it, to think that name and place and time. But the dreams would come upon him every so often, reminding him of things he'd tried hard to forget. 

He'd pushed those memories away so strongly that he could hardly remember _his_ face; it was mostly a jumble, disjointed pieces of a nose or a jaw that could've matched with any number of people he'd seen since. But he could remember other things very well and that was what rose up in his subconscious, shockingly erotic memories of being buried in that body, memories that left him hard and wanting, that made Carlton wonder what sort of deviant he really was that he could find sex with a _child_ so arousing even with the memories blurred with time.

He didn't want to admit it but Carlton knew that truth: that despite the homosexual encounters he'd had before that one summer, they'd been nothing compared to what he felt in that little space of time -- nothing had, not really -- and he wondered if that made him the pedophile he sometimes felt like. Nothing had made him happier than meeting Jenny and falling so completely in love; he'd been relieved and had written off that fling as an aberration, as some freak occurrence born of loneliness and bad luck, instead of rising from some quality inherent in him.

That Spencer had come along and dragged all of this out of his subconscious and into his waking mind pissed Carlton off. He didn't even _like_ Spencer, despite his hormonal reaction to him. At least, that was what he liked to tell himself -- that Spencer was lazy, arrogant, cumbersome, disrespectful and completely lacking in redeemable qualities. But then there were things that utterly contradicted his low opinion of the fake psychic. There was Guster's mostly-unwavering loyalty and the way Spencer had so recently stood by Captain Connors when everyone -- including Carlton himself -- had disregarded the retired cop's concerns. There'd also been those times when they'd talked, a few snatches of conversations here and there, where they'd almost managed to get along like normal humans. 

Truthfully, Carlton was jealous of Spencer's ability as much as he was frustrated by it. It astounded him, the intuitive leaps and logical jumps Spencer could make, the way he could tie together shards of information that seemed inconsequential and find the answer from it. And he didn't care what Spencer said or did in the name of "psychic vibrations," he knew that he was lying about it. He was about as psychic as Carlton was which meant none at all. But he still had no idea how Spencer did it, even after a few months of observation. 

For all the trouble this new thing with Spencer had caused in him, at least it helped assuage some of the fear and guilt he'd harbored for so long. Because despite how immature Spencer chose to act more often than not, he was an adult physically -- and Carlton was definitely attracted to him. It helped ease those worries he'd harbored, silencing that irrational voice in the back of his head that taunted him for his crimes.

It wasn't until the phone woke him up that Carlton realized that he'd dozed off and he startled himself to wakefulness as he reached for it.

"Lassiter," he answered, shaking off the lingering strains of sleep.

The caller was Mohadevan, one of the department's forensic pathologists, bearing news of an autopsy whose results Carlton had been impatient for. Though there had been no sign of foul play in Bryant Valerie's death, he was convinced that that was exactly what he had on his hands. Unfortunately, Mohadevan had called to dash his hopes for evidence to support his hunch because she hadn't found anything out of the ordinary in her results and was chalking the death up to natural causes.

Carlton didn't buy it for a minute. He hung up with Mohadevan even more disgusted than he'd been when he'd first arrived home. There was nothing more frustrating than a case he knew was one way and not the other but there was no way to prove it -- it was even more annoying than Spencer's nasty habit of solving seemingly unsolvable cases. With a touch of grim irony, he almost wished that this was one case where Spencer could come in and figure out the puzzle if so that the killer would be caught.

He'd been planning to spend a few hours before bed going over the Valerie case again but it didn't seem worth the effort, given Mohadevan’s call. Instead, he just closed up the house, double-checking the locks before heading toward the bedroom. 

Carlton was tired, hot, sticky -- he stripped off his rumpled suit, tossed it in the hamper when a mental note to take it to the cleaners and stepped into the shower, setting the water as hot as he could stand it.

Under the pounding spray, Carlton tried to clear his mind of everything bothering him, blanking out the work troubles, the problems with Spencer, his own guilt catching up with him again and focus on the simple, monotonous actions of showering. As always though, his rebellious mind let thoughts of Spencer crept over him, a sporadic cascade of images, no rhyme or reason as they danced across his distracted consciousness.

He was so absorbed in his rambling thoughts that it took Carlton a moment to realize that he’d automatically started fisting himself to the stimuli, quickly aroused by the barest reminiscences of Spencer. As he pushed toward release, he tried to focus the memories: Spencer smirking and covered in dirt when they found the Holby cash; the feel of him during the altercation in the De La Cruz kitchen; Spencer’s weight on his lap; in the police locker room, shirtless and relaxed. Carlton’s breath caught as he lingered on that last memory, and his hand sped up, slick with soap, until he was on the cusp, the images of Spencer mixing with older memories of a willing male body, young and supple. It was all melting together and Carlton thought he was missing some connection but then he was coming and all coherent reasoning shattered, leaving behind only broken fragments of whatever he’d been thinking.

Carlton leaned his head against the incongruously cool shower tiles, swallowed by the misty steam as he tried to catch his breath. He berated himself for being weak enough to give in to those thoughts again. It wasn't the first time he’d jerked off to those same memories but he always promised himself it would be the final time and he’d been strong enough to resist doing it again.

He never was.

Given its start, Carlton figured he wouldn’t make it through the week without at least one big drinking binge. 

He could already taste the scotch.

**

When he’d told Amanda that he was open to seeing where the night could go, Shawn hadn’t expected the night to go the way it had: Amanda getting engaged to her not-actually-cheating ex over the phone and him wrestling a very drunk Carlton Lassiter home from Tom Blair’s Pub.

It might have been easier if Lassiter hadn’t been all but dead weight. Shawn was spry and strong enough given his size but the police detective had several inches and several pounds on him which made dragging the unconscious man from the pub to Lassiter’s Crown Vic a laborious task even with help from Loretta and Roxie. After tipping the waitresses for their help, Shawn buckled his cargo into the passenger seat, checked his license for his current address and used the keys he’d already fished from Lassiter’s pocket to start the car.

Luckily, Lassiter only live a few streets from the pub -- probably why he chose it, Shawn assumed. Glancing over at Lassiter’s lolling head, Spencer couldn’t help but snort.

When they reached Lassiter’s house, Shawn had to struggle to get him up the stairs and in through the front door, especially since he had to fumble with the keys to unlock the door.

“It took you twelve years to buy me a drink,” Shawn huffed aloud as he shouldered his way inside, Lassiter in tow. “And it was a scotch! For the record, Lassy, I’m not that fond of scotch.”

Lassiter didn’t reply since he was still passed out and Shawn took a deep breath, trying to pick up the pace. He was relieved that the house was only one storey and, with one a last great burst of energy, Shawn hustled down the hall, dropping Lassiter unceremoniously down on the bed.

Shawn took a minute to catch his breath, sending a half-hearted glare in Lassiter’s direction as he silently cursed his heaviness. The detective was sprawled out on his back, loose-limbed, taking up almost every inch of the bed. His eyes were closed, jaw slack and slightly open, arms resting at his sides. Before he knew what he was doing, Shawn was sitting on the edge of the bed, the curve of his back almost brushing against Lassiter’s hip.

“Oh, Carly,” he said to himself as he leaned over Lassiter’s supine form. “What’s a good boy like you doing in a drunk like this?”

There was no answer from the snoring man -- not that Shawn expected one. With another sigh as to how lame his night had turned out, he began to work Lassiter’s tie loose so it wouldn’t strangle him in the night. He tossed the ugly strip of fabric away, then made sure that there were a few buttons undone at the collar for the same reason.

He debated on how much more he should do but decided that removing Lassiter’s shoes, along with the tie, was more than enough. Anything more and he’d been trailing into some personal boundary issues that Shawn didn’t want to think about. It was already a little too deja vu for him; it was surprising how little the atmosphere of Lassiter’s bedroom had changed over the years. It still had that same neat sparseness, same lack of definite character that had marked his dorm room over a decade ago.

Shawn watched him for a moment, fascinated by his uncharacteristically relaxed bearing, the smoothing of lines and frowns in his usually scowling face. But, even in sleep, Lassiter looked serious and Shawn found that fact incredibly sad. It hadn’t always been that way and he wondered what had happened since that had turned his Carly into the perpetually grim man he saw everyday.

Without much thought, he reached down, brushing a hand through Lassiter’s -- Carlton’s -- hair, letting his fingers smooth against the line of his face as he drew back. He could already see the reddish spot on his forehead from where he’d hit his head on the pub table and Shawn recognized the beginnings of a spectacular bruise.

As if only just realizing what he was doing -- touching Lassiter -- and where he was -- Lassy’s bedroom -- Shawn pulled away and hurried out of the room, leaving the detective to sleep in the dim light of a single lamp. Shawn quickly straightened up any mess he’d made, dropped Lassiter’s keys on the front table and made a whispered call to Gus for a ride home.

Blocking out Gus’s pesky questions about whose porch he was waiting on and why he was somewhere that his bike wasn’t, Shawn thought about the side of Lassiter he’d seen that evening. Under all the happy-drunk personality shift, there’d been some real sadness. Shawn had to admit to himself -- so uncomfortable, he hated it -- that he’d never given much thought to what his involvement in Lassy’s cases did to him. While it was nice to know that Lassiter found him astounding, he didn't like seeing Lassiter so downtrodden and defeated. He knew that part of it was marriage angst but Shawn couldn’t do anything about the ex-Mrs. Lassy’s refusal to reconcile; however, he thought that maybe he could help with the work situation -- if only Lassiter would let him.

That was a big if, he realized.

He thought about the dilemma for the rest of the night and, by morning, he’d figured out exactly what he needed to do. Bright and early, he drug Gus to the station to put his plan in action to solve the Valerie case for Lassiter. His friend hadn’t been very supportive at the beginning but Jules stepped up and she was way more helpful than Gus in terms of keeping Lassiter from figuring out their little plan. It was tricky at turns but, in the end, the awesome team that he, Gus and Jules made succeeded in leading Lassiter to the right answers so that it was the head detective who confidently marched up in front of the reporters to lead Hugo away.

Usually Shawn and Gus would’ve followed the drama back to the station but they decided that their presence there would’ve only drawn attention away from Lassiter which would have defeated the entire point of their covert operation. So, instead, they decided to go back to the office where Shawn could monitor the media coverage from a safe distance. 

Entirely too satisfied both with himself and the look on Lassiter’s face when “he” cracked the case, Shawn couldn’t stopping grinning the entire car ride. He rolled his window down, fiddled with the radio much to Gus’s consternation and hummed along with every early ‘90s hit the stations played. Gus kept shooting him evil looks from the driver’s seat but it didn’t stop his bellowing sing-along to “Follow You Down” that lasted almost up until they reached their beachfront office space.

The first thing Shawn did once he was inside the office was grab the TV remote, settle on the couch and start flipping between news stations. Channel 5 had broken into the regularly scheduled soap opera programming in order to bring news about the arrest while Channel 8 had a bulletin running across the bottom of the screen telling viewers to stayed tuned for a news report. He clicked through a few more channels, stopping when he reached the local 24-Hour News station which was showing a loop of the footage of Lassiter leading Hugo away while their perky blonde newscaster did a voiceover about the scant details that had been made public so far.

Shawn flipped back to Channel 8 in time to see Lassiter take Hugo away again, the footage a little grainier but still perfect in its technicolor glory. It was shot from another angle, he noticed, showing more of Lassiter’s face as he passed, and a much better shot of Hugo’s surprised expression. He reached down for the bag of popcorn he’d left near the sofa a few days earlier, grinning at the solemn-faced reporter now talking about Valerie, Hugo and Detective Carlton Lassiter.

He was contemplating recording the newscasts for posterity when Gus burst in, still holding his cell phone.

“Get those calls made?” Shawn asked him.

Gus nodded, taking a seat at his desk. He glanced from Shawn’s grinning face to the TV screen. “What are you doing?”

“Watching Lassy on the news,” Shawn explained, gesturing. “He’s on 5, 8 and the 24-Hours News one, too. I bet he makes it national by the time it’s all said and done.” He paused as they added a shot of Lassiter leading Hugo into the SBPD to the mix. “Look!”

“Oh, I’m looking,” Gus said sternly, in that weird voice that Shawn knew meant his friend had some kind of issue with something. “Just not at Lassiter.”

Shawn’s eyes darted from the TV to Gus’s frowning face. “What?” he asked, grin fading.

“You never said why we had to do this,” Gus said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shawn asked, uncomfortable with the way Gus was watching him. He shifted a little on the sofa.

“It is to me,” Gus said after a minute. “Just not sure it is to you.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, swinging his legs off the couch so that he was sitting up. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What you think it means.” Gus had his eyes on his computer screen like he wasn’t paying attention to Shawn’s irritation.

“Well I don’t know what you mean, so I don’t think it means anything,” Shawn shot back. “So how about you explain it to me, Gus?”

Gus sighed. “Never mind, Shawn. Forget it.”

“No!” Shawn left the couch and plopped down into his desk chair. “No, you started this. You can’t chicken out now. Come on!”

Gus looked conflicted, deliberating; but then he must have made a decision because he stood up, nodding as he came around to lean against the front of his desk. “Okay, okay, fine.” He crossed his arms. “It’s not like this is new. I’ve been warning you about it since we finished the Summerland case. It's Lassiter.”

“Lassiter?”

“Yes, Lassiter,” Gus told him. “I told you, Shawn. You’re playing with fire and the only person who’s going to get burned is you when it hits the fan.”

Shawn snorted in disbelief. “One, you’re mixing metaphors. Two, I thought we’d gotten past this! I told I wasn’t going to say or do anything around him to tip him off and I haven’t, so...where’s this coming from?”

Gus shook his head. “Shawn, you are _blind_ , do you know that?”

“My eyes are 20/20, I’ll have you know,” he said. “Probably better, actually, if I could afford to get ‘em checked out.”

Gus made an abortive movement, like he was contemplating stepping away from his desk. Shawn wasn’t sure if it was a prelude to leaving or coming over to smack him but it didn’t matter because he changed his mind and stayed where he was. “I’m being serious, Shawn.”

“About _what_?” Shawn asked. “I still don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“Why did you want to help Lassiter?”

“Because he needed it,” Shawn replied, waving a dismissive hand. “He was...sad, drunk, I don’t know. He gave me his handcuffs.”

“But why did that matter?” Gus wanted to know.

“Because they’re new, shiny, and mine are broken,” he explained.

Gus rolled his eyes. “Not the handcuffs! Why did it matter to you if Lassiter was sad? You spend half of your life trying to piss him off.”

“It just...” Shawn wasn’t sure how to explain _why_ it had mattered to him. “It just did, okay? We pulled it off, he feels better, another murderer is caught! All’s well that ends up well, right?”

“Wrong!” Gus was pointing at him now. “You can’t just ignore what’s going on here. Why can’t you see what I’m talking about?”

Shawn scowled, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, Spellmaster, why don’t you give it to me, letter by letter?”

“Fine!”

“Fine! Then say it!”

“Fine, I will!” Gus paused, taking a ragged breath. “Shawn, why can’t you just admit that you’re falling for him again?”

Shawn blinked. “Gus...what are you...? I’m not falling for _Lassiter,_ I...” When he saw the skeptical look on his friend’s face, he frowned. “You’re completely off base!”

“No, I’m not,” Gus said and his voice was even but firm, maybe even a little sympathetic. It just made it worse, in Shawn’s opinion. “I was there, all those years ago when you fell for him when you were a kid and I was there when he dumped you and I was there when we almost got arrested on our way to Mexico and I’m here now and it’s happening again!”

“No, _no_ ,” Shawn denied, jumping to his feet. He felt itchy, like his skin didn’t fit, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with energy he needed to work off. “Gus, man, I appreciate that you’re worried but you’re wrong here. I already told you, I wasn’t in _love_ with Ca-- Lassiter back then! I was a kid, a kid who wanted to get _laid_ and who got laid and it was good but then it was over and that was it.”

“I was _there_ ,” Gus said again, stepping into Shawn’s face, cutting off his pacing. “That wasn’t just what it was. You -- you were _smitten_ and he broke your _heart_.”

Shawn opened his mouth to protest but there didn’t seem to be much point, not with Gus watching him with such a knowing look, not when there was a sinking feeling inside that was telling him that Gus wasn’t too far off.

“Okay,” Shawn said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s say I concede on the young, virginal and stupid front. But that has nothing to do with now. I’m not in any danger of going there again.”

“If you really believe that, you’re fooling yourself,” Gus said sadly. “If you could’ve seen yourself a minute ago...”

“You worry too much, Gus,” Shawn told him.

“Lassiter was bad news when you were a kid,” Gus said. “And he would be even more bad news for you now.”

“I got it, Gus.”

“I’m not so sure,” Gus returned.

“I said, I got it,” Shawn bit back. 

No longer able to put up with Gus’s pitying and pointed look, Shawn cleared out, jumping on his bike and riding around until he'd cleared his head. He didn’t want to believe what Gus had been saying -- it was much too complicated to be true.

But he remembered the way he’d felt looking down at Lassiter passed out on the bed and it was harder to dismiss his friend’s concerns.

The next day when the pair headed up to the station to check on the status of the Valerie case, Gus didn’t bring up the conversation they'd had and Shawn was grateful. He did notice, though, that Gus seemed to hover around when Lassiter dragged Shawn off for a quick one-on-one chat but he didn't have time to call him on it, not when he still had to go meet his dad. 

Shawn tried to put it all out of his mind and he mostly succeeded; but he knew that something had changed -- and he wasn't sure he was happy about it.


	15. Chapter 15

Burton Guster had always considered himself a decent guy and had tried all his life to make his deeds match that opinion. He'd been voted "Mr. Nice Guy" in high school and while Shawn had chortled about that for years, Gus had never had any problem with that label. He liked being the good guy.

Being the nice guy, Gus had never put much stock in hating people. It took up too much time, energy and other consumables that could be used more constructively in other areas of his life; it wasn't worth the effort.

Gus still hated Carlton Lassiter.

In fact, he'd hated him almost since the day they'd met at the SBPD's 4th of July Picnic he'd attended with Shawn the summer after high school, when he'd been faced with this 20-something adult who had obviously taken advantage of his stupid underage friend by having sex with him. Shawn, of course, had assured him that there'd been no advantage-taking in the mix but it had never sat right with him that any 25-year-old would do something like that.

What had started out as dislike and unease in the face of Lassiter's complete lack of moral conscience had rapidly hardened into something else when he'd found out that the almost-cop had spent the weekend shacked up with Shawn while the Spencers were away. Gus remembered thinking about the disrespect there: the guy worked alongside Mr. Spencer at the station and was willing to do this to him? Gus had always been taught about respect and that just wasn't it.

Then had come the piece de resistance -- a week of happy-as-a-clam Shawn followed by the devastated, angsty shadow he'd become after "Carly'" broke it off with him. Gus had eventually pressed for details but Shawn had been uncharacteristically closed-mouth until they'd gotten drunk enough one night for him to admit a few blurry details, including the fact that he'd been told that he wasn't "worth it" and Lassiter been worried about Shawn tattling on him to someone.

So even as a teenager, Gus had felt justified in his hate for Carlton Lassiter, a man who could use and discard the stupid, blind-in-love kid Shawn had been and then only worry about himself when he got tired of it. If it had been up to Gus, Shawn would've taken it to Mr. Spencer and Lassiter would've been made to pay; but the one time he'd brought that suggestion up to Shawn, he'd looked so sick and sad at the thought that he'd never said it again.

And just because Carlton Lassiter had become the head detective of the SBPD, a supposedly upstanding guy, and was a co-worker of his didn't mean that that hate had just went away. 

When Shawn had first explained to him who Detective Lassiter was, Gus had been understandably worried about Lassiter making the same connection and taking it out on them. As the months had passed, though and it had become obvious that Lassiter didn't remember Shawn, Gus's concerns had changed focus. 

On one hand, he was incredibly angry on Shawn's behalf, pissed that Lassiter could actually _not_ remember him. It seemed like the last of many slaps in the face he'd dealt his friend since that night in Irvine.

Most of Gus, though, was just incredibly worried about Shawn. Shawn had made noises for years about how "Carly" hadn't meant much to him, how it had all been about getting laid and various other lies but Gus had been there and Shawn's lies didn't work on him. He knew that Shawn had been in love with his Carly, as much any teenager could be, and that it had left its mark on him. For the adult Shawn to have to work with him, day in and day out, he knew it had to be uncomfortable. And, to his horror, he saw the last thing he'd ever want to see happening ---

Shawn was falling for Lassiter again.

Gus had no romantic illusions: he knew that it was going to end in heartbreak again and the broken heart would be Shawn's -- again. But this time it would be a grown-up Shawn suffering through it and he wouldn't just hide in his room or do stupid things to piss Henry off, he'd jump on his bike, screw up the PI gig he enjoyed so much and probably never come back to Santa Barbara ever.

He'd already decided that if it came to that, Gus would personally kill Lassiter himself, jail be damned. A guy could only let a bastard break his bi-flexible best friend's heart so many times in one lifetime before he _had_ to take action.

He'd been hoping that maybe he'd just been paranoid about the whole thing until Shawn had dropped the Valerie case on their workload, all in the name of helping Lassiter feel better. Even though Gus had at least reached a point where he tolerated Lassiter and maybe even accepted the fact that he'd matured in ten-plus years, it didn't mean he had any special considerations for the guy's feelings. Gus had seen in the light in Shawn's face, first at the press conference and later at their offices and he'd known that his friend was in serious trouble again.

It was why Gus had decided to stick close through the next few cases, the very next being the mystery of the grassy-assed guys that had landed them at the speed-dating event. As he sat at the table with Juliet and Shawn, he watched as Lassiter walked up and immediately gained all of Shawn's attention without ever trying, then watched as Shawn flirted with him in the subtlest way he knew, managing to tease, touch and compliment him all under the guise of shop-talk. It was a gift that Gus had often wished he possessed but, at that moment, he only wished Shawn didn't have it.

After his disastrous date with Darcy, while he was changing into the snot-free shirt that Mr. Spencer had been nice enough to lend him, Gus finally had a chance to ask about his erstwhile partner.

"Got a call from the detective working the case," Henry explained. "And there was something about a leprechaun?"

Gus finally met up with Shawn, Lassiter and the Chief at Shenanigan's where Shawn managed to break the case. He had to admit he -- like Lassiter -- was glad that Marvin turned out to be crooked, just because he'd been so obnoxious since day one.

Their conversation over jerk chicken later that night was mostly about Shawn's incredibility about Henry's sudden turn into metrosexualism but it eventually turned back to the case they'd just closed.

"It's too bad you missed Lassiter grilling Marvin," Shawn said, pausing in his consumption of spicy chicken to take a swig of his cold beer. "It was hilarious. He was so smug, like he was above it all."

"Who? Lassiter?"

"Lassiter?" Shawn furrowed his brow. "No, Marvin! But I got him, yes, I did."

"Yeah, you did," Gus agreed. 

Shawn grinned at him before enthusiastically attacking his food once more. Gus watched him for a moment before speaking. "Your dad said Lassiter called you in?"

He nodded. "When he picked up Marvin, so I could be there for the questioning."

"So, that blonde you tried to chat up," Gus continued. "Anything happening there?"

"No, not really," Shawn admitted. "She was nice, though."

"How about...Juliet?" Gus asked hopefully. "You seemed preoccupied with the fact that she was on a date."

"Gus, it's Jules," he replied. "Did you see that dude she was with? Pffft!" Shawn stopped eating and looked at him. "What's your point with this? You trying to set me up with Juliet?"

"No," Gus promised. "Just trying to, you know, see what's going on with you. You haven't been up on the action lately, if you know what I mean." He didn't want to admit to Shawn but he was just hoping that his friend could be distracted by a pretty _female_ face.

"I just...haven't been feeling it lately," Shawn admitted.

"Uh huh."

"Maybe I'm working too hard."

"Uh huh."

"Maybe..." Shawn looked down at his plate, steadily avoiding Gus's gaze. "Or maybe you weren't all that off the other day."

Gus's felt his hope sink at the resignation in his friend's voice, at the guilty way he kept his head bowed. "I knew it! Damnit, Shawn!"

"I know, Gus, I know!" Shawn hissed back. "It's not like I was looking for this to happen!"

"I told you, Shawn," Gus said, wagging his finger at him. "From that first day, I told you something like this was going to happen!"

"You think I want to have the hots for Lassy?" Shawn asked him petulantly. "It didn't exactly work out last time and it's not like he likes me all that much now!"

Gus opened his mouth to say something pointed and probably biting but he saw the real uneasiness in Shawn's eyes and the words died. Shawn was his best friend, had been for as long as he could remember, and it was obvious that the confession wasn't sitting well with him any more than it was with Gus.

He sighed. "I suggest you try to move past it. Don't even try anything."

"Yeah," Shawn nodded. "I know." 

"He'll just screw you over," Gus reminded him. "Again."

"I _know_."

"I'm just saying!" 

Shawn sighed, busying himself with wiping his hands with his paper napkin. "Do you really think I don't know all this?"

Gus winced and accepted the point. He couldn't help but feel partly to blame for driving that point home but he'd only done it out of friendship. The last thing Shawn needed was to push it with Lassiter and end up hurting a lot more than he would from some unrequited pining. And Gus was sure that it would end with Shawn being hurt -- while he may have been able to accept Lassiter as the stand-up guy he was today, that didn't mean he'd ever trust him where Shawn was concerned.

"Just don't let him hurt you," Gus finally said.

"I'll try," Shawn told him. "But I make no promises."

That was exactly what Gus was afraid of.

**

From the beginning, Juliet O'Hara had realized that Lassiter and Shawn had a very strange relationship, almost from the first moment she'd seen them together. The fact that Shawn himself was strange, if charming, probably helped form that early opinion but their subsequent interactions had only cemented it.

Lassiter's animosity had always been apparent, along with his impatience and disbelief. Juliet understood the latter because she hadn't actually known what to think about Shawn being a psychic herself, but he'd long since proved his abilities to her. Shawn had had some issues with Lassiter, too, she'd noted early, but it had always been more about teasing some reaction out of the detective than about arousing that animosity. Of course, there had been times -- especially in those early cases -- when it had been an eruption of anger on both sides.

Things had started to change after Hiltonbock's arrest, though the change had been slow. Lassiter still had his days of extra-crankiness that had meant hell for everyone and not just Shawn but, for the most part, Lassiter had started dealing with Shawn and his psychic abilities with a bit more equanimity. Shawn hadn't much changed his ways but Lassiter's tolerance had eased the entire situation.

But for all of Shawn's easy-going-ness, Juliet hadn't realized how much Shawn actually _liked_ Lassiter until she'd busted "KKarlton" reopening the Bryant Valerie case. She hadn't been able to imagine anything more gracious on Shawn's part -- doing all of the work, taking none of the glory, all for Carlton. It was why she'd agreed to help him in the first place and she'd never regretted her part in the operation. Shawn had even told her later that Lassiter's uplifted spirits during the media heyday was more than enough reward for him.

All that didn't mean that Shawn didn't drive Lassiter crazy at every turn but Juliet was willing to chalk it up to fundamental personality differences -- and Shawn's unique version of humor.

As one of Lassiter's older cases, the Sandra Panitch case, approached trial-time, Juliet could tell that he wasn't as satisfied with the case as he had been at the time of the arrest. He came back from testimony preparation with the district attorney left him unsettled and she wondered how she'd deal with the same situation if she ever faced it. Lassiter didn't have any idea what to do about his doubts with the case and he was still one of the prosecution's star witnesses.

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" she asked him as they headed to the trial.

"Of course it does," he told him sharply. "I'm a cop and it's my job to put the criminal behind bars, not just anybody. But the evidence is strong and after all this time, the trail would be cold even if someone were to investigate."

Juliet thought about what he'd said. "This may sound crazy," she admitted. "But have you ever thought of asking...Shawn?"

"No," he told her. "Asking for Spencer's help is placing him under the very mistaken impression that I believe his psychic crap and I don't, haven't and never will."

"But he does figure things out."

"Yes," he admitted. "He does."

"So why not ask him?"

"Because I don't want to."

"But you do think he's good?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do I need to spell it out, O'Hara? He always closes his cases, usually with a tidy confession or at least enough evidence that the arrest is guaranteed, and I haven't tossed his ass in jail yet for obstruction of justice. What do you think?"

Juliet didn't reply but she smiled to herself, proud that she'd just learned something about her enigmatic partner. Despite the way he acted, he obviously respected Shawn's skills and -- maybe -- he even liked the psychic a little. She'd seen him behave that way a time or two, a stray conversation or look that was amiable but only seemed to happen when Shawn and Lassiter were alone, as if Lassiter was afraid that someone would figure it out.

She wonder how Shawn -- a psychic -- been missed it so far. She though he had to be blind to it or else he'd have been nicer to the detective. 

Given that they'd been talking about him on the drive over, it was certainly a surprise when they ran into Shawn at the court house -- at the Sandra Panitch trial, no less.

Juliet wasn't sure how she'd expected Lassiter to react to the news that Shawn had hired himself out as a legal consultant to the defense; his comments were a mixed bag and Juliet could tell that his "Don't screw it up" rattled Shawn more than his earlier, more offensive words.

If knowing that Shawn was involved calmed Lassiter's doubts any, he didn't show it, at least not where Juliet could tell. She did see, however, how Lassiter watched the psychic in court from their seats in the back room and she wondered what he was thinking when he did. She was doubly sure that Shawn had no idea about Lassiter's good opinion of him when Lassiter openly vouched for him with the judge. She doubted anyone had ever expressed their surprise in terms of handicrafts before, but Juliet had always known Shawn was odd.

For all her appreciation of Shawn's humor, though, Juliet wished that he would sometimes give it a rest, especially where Lassiter was concerned. Sometimes she wondered if maybe her partner wasn't right about Shawn's lack of psychic ability because there were some things that were so obvious that she wondered how he could miss it.

When she and Lassiter ran into Shawn and Gus on the steps outside of the court, she wished that Shawn had been able to show a little tact and not give Lassiter such a hard time; not that it was obvious to anyone else but _she_ knew that this trial was pulling Carlton in a million different directions. Shawn's humor was out of place, especially when his barbs tended to be personal. 

Juliet wished she could make Shawn see that about Lassiter, that it was about more than which of them was right or wrong and even though Lassiter didn't show it, he did respect Shawn and what he could do. Juliet tried to tell him but she wasn't sure how much he heard. He heard something, though, because he hurried off even before she and Lassiter had made it into the courthouse, Gus trailing behind him. 

Lassiter had not been looking forward to his time on the stand but his doubts turned into absolute shock when the defense attorney, Hornstock, asked him about a memo he'd sent. Juliet could tell how surprised he was by the way his eyes immediately sought out Shawn and lingered on him, probably deciding that it was the only way that the defense could have learned about it. 

Although he didn't say it, she knew that Lassiter was pleased when Shawn and Hornstock managed to coax a confession from Priscilla on the stand, thus clearing Sandra and bringing the real killer to justice. As soon as the chaos had begun to die down, Juliet pushed her way through the crowds to congratulate the defense team. Gus actually hugged her when she stopped to talk to him and together they headed over to Shawn, Sandra and Hornstock. 

"You did really good!" she told Shawn.

"Thanks, Jules!" he returned. He thudded the lawyer on the back. "H-stock here did all of the work though!"

"No, no, not me," Hornstock demurred. "Shawn was amazing."

"You were _all_ wonderful," Sandra broke in and Juliet immediately liked her for some reason. 

"Lassiter was really impressed, too," Juliet said, touching Shawn's arm to get his attention. 

"Oh really?" Shawn didn't seem convinced.

"Yes, I'm sure he..." Juliet turned in time to watch Lassiter slip out of the courtroom. "Oh."

Shawn patted her arm. "Nice try, Jules," he said. "Now, we're all going out to celebrate. You coming with?"

Juliet decided not to join in the festivities and instead headed back to work. Lassiter was there at his desk when she walked in, thoroughly engaged in paperwork. When she questioned him about his sudden departure from the courthouse but he refused to say anything more about it. 

It wasn't too long after the Panitch trial ended that the police station held their repossessed vehicle auction; Juliet passed several of the signs as she came in the door. She'd just settled down at her desk when Lassiter came loping over, shirt-sleeves rolled up and having that look that said he'd been at work for many hours already.

"O'Hara," he barked. "Do you have the autopsy on the Greenwich case?"

"I do," she answered. "Hold on."

Lassiter loitered by her desk as she shuffled through her desk, only to remember that the file was in her briefcase. She was leaning over to pull it from the black leather bag when she heard Shawn call out, "Hey, Lassy!"

Juliet righted herself in time to see Shawn half-jog to their location. "There you are!" he said, looking Lassiter up and down.

"I thought I told you to go home, Spencer," he said. 

"And I will, soon," Shawn promised. "But first I had to thank you. And, you know, ask you what you did with the real Carlton Lassiter."

"Shawn, can't you just say thank you," Juliet asked, exasperated. 

"Of course," he assured her. "But I like words! Lots of words! And thank you is just sooo short."

"Spencer, if you want to thank me, you can do it by leaving me alone," Lassiter told him, taking the forgotten file from Juliet's hand.

"Without giving you props?" Shawn asked. "I couldn't do that."

Lassiter sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I'm going back to my desk."

Juliet watched him stalk off and then turned to Shawn. "Can't you ever just be nice to him?"

"Jules," Shawn began, turning to face her. "If I was what you call nice to Lassy, he'd die from the shock."

"Still..."

Shawn looked away from her, eyes watching Lassiter as the detective worked at his computer. "We've got our own thing going. It's weird but it works." He paused. "Most of the time."

Juliet watched Shawn watched Lassiter and thought about what he'd said. 

Lassiter wouldn't ask for Shawn's help even though he knew Shawn could solve a case and when Shawn took on the case, Lassiter acted angry. Then when what he really wanted to do was congratulate him, Lassiter avoided the psychic -- only to go behind his back and return Shawn's precious motorcycle to him. _And_ then Shawn said thank you in his own obnoxious way, a sentiment that sent Lassiter for cover, leaving Shawn to watch him from her desk, the oddest look on his face.

Juliet had been right in the first place.

Shawn and Lassiter had a very strange relationship.


	16. Chapter 16

Considering that he was bored out of his mind within two hours of Gus's departure for the retreat, Shawn was almost willing to admit that it was time for him to make a new friend or two. It wasn't often he realized that he spent the majority of his time with Gus but without his best friend to fill those endless hours of internet flash games and cat naps, Shawn ran out of ways to entertain himself pathetically quickly. Luckily, he decided Juliet and Lassiter were his next best chance for excitement, a choice which led him to the case of the missing Deanna Sirtis.

"You need a hobby," Gus told him in the car as they drove to the Siritses' house.

"I solve crimes," Shawn replied, the _duh_ implied.

"A hobby you can do _alone_ ," Gus clarified. "For a guy who spent years traveling around all by himself, you have serious separation issues."

"But Gus, you're the wind beneath my wings," Shawn said. "How can I live without you?"

Gus shot him a look. "Don't start."

"You're my first, my last, my everything," Shawn said, feigning the emotion that choked his voice.

"That's low," Gus muttered. "You know I'm gonna have that song in my head for the rest of the day!"

After they left Deanna's, they tracked down Lassiter who Shawn thought might be grabbing a drink from his favorite coffee stand on the beach, something he sometimes did in the middle of a particularly stressful case. His hunch proved correct and they caught up with Lassiter who, as usual, dismissed their insights into the case. What was unusual was the fact that Henry managed to find them there, as well.

Two questions skimmed through Shawn's mind -- one wondering how Henry found them, the other about why Lassy decided to trot over to the truck with him and Gus -- but they were mostly ignored in favor of arguing with Henry over his stuff. He remembered that Henry had called _again_ about his stuff but Shawn had thought he'd cleared out most of the things he cared about until he came across his old Whitesnake T-shirt buried in one of the boxes. It wasn't just that the shirt was irreplaceable due to its vintage status; it had great sentimental value.

Shawn stared down at the gray shirt he held in his hands, remembering the last time he wore it -- sometime in the week between the 4th of July weekend he'd spent with a certain grad student turned cop and the night that Lassiter had broke it off with him in the arcade parking lot. But the night that he most associated with the shirt was the night he'd first gone out looking for a loose blonde coed to strip him of it and his virginity and he'd met Carlton instead.

His reverie was broken by Gus's indignation over his lame Airwolf jacket and then further distracted by the completely bizarre bonding moment between Lassiter and his dad. Despite the humor Gus found in the situation, Shawn was left more weirded out than amused. It was even weirder to see them together the next day, his dad having made a _special_ trip down to the station in order to chat with Lassiter. As he walked off to the sound of his father and Lassy laughing behind his back, Shawn couldn't imagine anything weirder, especially considered he'd spent more than a few hours as a kid dearly hoping that the two of them never met. 

What was more disturbing was the fact that it actually made sense. Using the little objectivity he could manage thinking about his father or Lassiter, Shawn could see exactly why their rapport should've been a foregone conclusion. Lassiter was exactly the kind of cop that Henry had been -- tough, serious, non-sense, and, in Shawn's opinion, much too hard-assed -- and the kind of officer that Henry had wanted Shawn to be. Factoring in Lassiter's bad, obviously straight fashion sense and his love of boringly manly things like fishing, it was a match made in heaven -- or Shawn's hell.

"I can't believe it," he told Gus later that day. "It's...it's like...I can't wrap my mind around it."

"That your dad and Lassiter are hanging out?" 

"Yes!"

"It is a little weird," Gus admitted. "Actually, it gives me the creeps."

"You're preaching to the choir here," Shawn informed him. "I've never seen anything so disturbing in my life and that includes Turk's ass."

"I can't believe Lassiter would want to spend time with your dad," Gus said. "Considering that he doesn't even like you."

"Guess he figured I didn't inherit my charm from the Spencer side of the family," Shawn said. "Plus, half of the guys in the force idolize my dad, think he was, like, 'supercop' or something."

"Well, your dad was still here when Lassiter started," Gus stated sourly. "Maybe that's what it is."

"I don't want to talk about it," Shawn told him. "Or think about it."

"Well, you brought it up."

"I know!' Shawn admitted, shuddering. "Let's talk about who tried to kill Deanna. It's less unsettling."

One of the things that Shawn remembered most clearly from the days after the thing with Lassiter -- the thing that Gus was fond of calling "the break-up" -- was Gus's insistence that he take what had happened to the police. And, by police, Gus had meant his dad. His friend had been certain that Henry would've made sure that Carlton paid for messing around with him, not only in a paternal way but also in a judicial, law-breaking way. Shawn hadn't admitted it then but he'd never thought that his dad would care that much about his virtue, lost or otherwise. 

Out of everything that would've come out with his confession, Shawn had figured that the thing most likely to cause Henry grief would've been the gay part of the equation. It took him two more years to drop that little bombshell on his father and even that had been tough enough when Shawn was assured a speedy way out of town the next day. If he had confessed it all to his father, Shawn was pretty sure that all that would've come up it was his grounding for the summer for sneaking off to UC Irvine and probably a lecture about how stupid he was to fall for the lines he'd been fed.

After Lassiter and even the Chief shut him down about Deanna's attacker being someone other than Felix Alvarez, Shawn headed home, hoping a little time away would clear his head. He knew it wasn't Alvarez; every one of his instincts were telling him it was someone else. But he needed to find something to convince the police or else Deanna's almost-killer would have a free chance to try again before she gained consciousness.

Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas and Shawn found himself cross-legged on his couch with _VH1 Classic_ playing in the background while he looked over the old T-shirt he'd saved from his father's Goodwill stash. He didn't even know why he'd kept all these years because he hadn't worn it since he was 17 years old. It probably wouldn't even had made it through several purges of his stuff by both him and Henry if it hadn't been tucked away from some kind of care.

Shawn eventually tossed the shirt in the general direction of his breakfast bar where it caught on one of the bar stools. He grabbed the remote with plans to switch over to something mindless and manly like sports but he got distracted by more old school memories when the video for "Fell On Black Days" started up. Like the T-shirt, the song reminded him of that summer; it was just one of the better emo-angsty tunes of the time. While it no longer had quite the same effect on him, it brought him back to subject that his mind kept circling -- Lassiter.

Not that he wanted to think about him. Thinking about Lassiter made him think about the days when he was Carly -- and the shirt did enough of that -- and the weird friend thing he had going with his dad and the fact that he had kind of confessed to Gus that he had the hots for Lassy. Again. Kind of.

It had all gotten mixed up in his head -- Carly, Lassiter, what he'd felt when he was 17, what he felt now. He didn't like how it left him feeling, either. Falling for Carlton had been a giddy, heady and thoroughly terrible experience at the end and Shawn had been smart enough to avoid that kind of tangle again. To have all that messy emotion stuff bleeding over into his patented 'detach with love' approach to life made him unsteady, queasy and entirely too affected by Lassiter.

It all came back to him the next day when he strolled up to his dad's front door to see Henry and Lassiter sitting on the deck, laughing and joking together over the fish that they'd "hooked and cooked." Shawn had his own set of memories of Carlton on his deck, laughing, along with all the other memories from that 4th of July and they just didn't fit with reality. That, and the fact that Lassiter looked happier in that moment than Shawn had seen him in years made it all -- well, like a bad episode of _The Twilight Zone_.

Shawn knew he should probably think about it, figure it out so it didn't keep creeping up on him at every turn. But he didn't have the time with Deanna's attacker loose and probably ready to attack again and he didn't even have the desire to worry about it.

Luckily, he had a reason to let it wait.

**

There was a strange pall over the station as the Deanna Sirtis attempted murder investigation was laid to rest. It had started within moments of Spencer's flamboyant revelation and it hadn't dimmed since, only growing more uncomfortable as the evidence mounted against Kellen.

It was never easy to admit that one of their own turned out to be one of the bad guys that they were swore to stop.

Kellen had eventually confessed but a search of his home had turned up enough incriminating evidence that Carlton was sure they would've had had no trouble getting a conviction without it. His last call to the hospital had confirmed that Deanna was expected to recover and Carlton was ready to leave the office behind for the rest of the day. He needed some sleep after pulling double shifts all weekend and he had another fishing trip planned for that evening with Henry Spencer.

Mulling over the fact that the elder Spencer could be so different from the younger one, Carlton was just going to stop by his desk to grab his suit jacket before making a break for his car. His plans were changed, however, by the sight of an unexpected visitor standing next to his unoccupied desk.

"Guster?" he asked, surprise clear in his voice. "What does Spencer want now?"

"Shawn's not here," Guster told him, looking around nervously. In fact, his body was radiating unease and maybe even a little anger. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I came to speak to you about something," he explained. "In private."

"Well, I'm heading to my car," Carlton told him, grabbing his jacket from his hanger. "If you can walk and talk, I'll listen."

Guster nodded and fell into step alongside him, despite the difference in their strides. Carlton refused to show it but he was incredibly curious as to what could bring Guster to see him without Spencer.

"What?" he asked after a few steps.

"I don't want anyone to know about this conversation," Guster told him. "It stays between you and me."

Carlton sighed as he paused to pull on his jacket. "You're already trying my patience, Guster. Get to the point."

"I want you to lay off the play dates with Henry Spencer."

It probably had to be the last thing that Carlton had expected to hear out of Guster's mouth. "What?"

"Look..." Guster began. "I know you and Shawn don't get along and I'm all for that. However, you two have managed to be nice to each other on occasion and I want you to do this for him, okay?"

"What does Spencer have to do with this?" Carlton wanted to know, unable to believe that the fake psychic had sent his friend on the mission.

"What do you think?" Guster asked, as if the question were an idiotic one. "He's just a little weirded out by his co-worker -- one who doesn't even like him -- being all chummy with his dad. I understand how he feels and I know he'd never ask himself."

"Well, as touching as that is," Carlton told him. "Spencer's delicate feelings aren't my problem."

Guster sent him as scathing a look as Carlton had ever seen on him. "Yeah," he muttered. "I noticed."

"I beg your pardon?" Carlton asked sharply, stung.

"Look, Detective..." Guster sighed and stopped moving, turning to face the detective. "I really shouldn't even be telling you this but Shawn and Henry's relationship has never been what you could call great and I don't think this fishing buddies thing is helping. When Shawn was a kid, he did a lot of crazy stuff--"

"I'm well aware," Carlton said dryly, recalling the story about Spencer's arrest for grand theft auto.

"You are?" Guster asked slowly, eyeing with no little suspicion.

"Of course I am," Carlton told him. "How could I _not_ be?"

Guster's frown deepened. "So...you _know_?"

Carlton wondered where all of Guster's disbelief and suspicion were coming from since it was a widely known fact that Spencer had been a trouble maker since birth. Anyone who'd ever spent a few hours fishing with his father could attest to that. "Isn't that what I just said?"

Suddenly Guster changed and everything about him was less polite, less reserved -- more angry. "Then I shouldn't even have to explain this to you," he hissed, pacing in front of him. They'd long since reached Carlton's car parked in the station's parking deck and the detective was leaning against the Crown Vic, waiting for Guster to get to his point. "This is really weirding him out and it's not like you don't _owe_ him a break or two."

"Me? Owe him?" Carlton scoffed, wondering how loyalty could make Guster not only blind to Spencer's faults but to reality in general. "I don't see it that way, Guster."

Guster stopped pacing to glower at him. "That's always been the problem! Don't you care, even a little, about what you've done to him?"

Carlton folded his arms and returned the glower. "Spencer looks fine enough to me."

"You don't care." Guster shook his head and clenched his fists, before taking a deep breath. "You know, he kept that stupid damn T-shirt all these years even though he couldn't bring himself to wear it ever again. But I bet it doesn't matter to you." He paused, shaking his head again. "Why did I even think this was a good idea?" 

Guster gave him one last dark look, sarcasm heavy in his words. "Thanks for your time, Detective."

Carlton watched as the younger man stalked away, completely mystified by most of the conversation he'd just had. He didn't know why Guster had eventually turned so hostile but once again he did commend his loyalty to his friend. Despite his confusion, he thought about Guster's main point and what he should -- or shouldn't -- do because of it. If Spencer had only been nothing more to him but the annoying coworker he pretended he was, he'd have probably brushed off Guster's concern without a second thought. However, there was something about dreaming about a person most nights that made him a little more sensitive to his feelings.

He did really enjoy his fishing trips with Henry Spencer; it was relaxing and Henry was solid but unassuming companionship. Sometimes they did chat but usually they were quiet, unless he had a question about Henry's glory days in the force or if Henry had a question or tale that he wanted to share about his son. Carlton had noticed immediately that the retired cop had two main topics of conversation: being a policeman and his son. Since it -- and fishing -- were the main things they had in common, it was probably why Carlton found him an ideal fishing buddy.

It must've really been bothering at Spencer, he decided, if Guster was willing to come all the way down to the station and ask him to stop. He didn't really see the big deal since it was obvious that Spencer had probably never been his father's buddy in anything but Carlton had long since figured out that there was issues there. He could still remember Spencer's icy voice and expression from their first meeting in the interview room when he'd asked him if he'd learned his lesson to which Spencer had replied, "I learned I hated my father, so sure."

With a sigh, he climbed into his car and headed to the Spencer house, decision made. It wouldn't be that great of an imposition to skip a few trips with Henry if it saved Spencer an hour or two of therapy down the road. Carlton didn't want to admit it but he had seen some things in Henry's behavior and personality that could explain the train wreck that his son had grew up to be. Henry Spencer was blunt, overly critical -- luckily marriage had made Carlton pretty good at tuning it out -- and it was obvious from his stories that he'd had a very definite plan he's expected his son to follow.

Considering Spencer didn't seem like someone who followed the preparation instructions on ramen noodles, Carlton could see where the problems came from.

He was actually surprised that Spencer was there with his father when he arrived but it gave him a chance to pawn the trip off on the kid which would've made Guster happy, he hoped. Spencer was immediately suspicious and trailed after him, pointing out that he knew that Carlton's lie about having to work was just that. He fed him some half-truths about Henry's nagging and a honest admission about understanding him a little better.

Carlton was still half-grinning to himself as he walked around the corner to where he'd parked his car, mind idly replaying the scene as climbed in and started the ignition. Spencer, all sprawled on the porch, then grinning at him as he jokingly defended his father against Carlton's complaints. There was something about it, about Spencer grinning at him and standing there with the outline of his childhood home in the background...

He couldn't quite place the something and his mind wandered again as he cracked the car window and let the warm breeze filter in against his face, taking the next left toward his house. Parts of his conversation with Guster were still bothering him, especially the indecipherable innuendo about him hurting Spencer and the line about a T-shirt. While Carlton had probably thought about doing damage to any number of Spencer's T-shirts since he'd started starring in his fantasies, he didn't know anything about some shirt Spencer had held onto for years, except maybe that gray one that he'd seen Spencer salvage from the back of his father's truck and he couldn't see how he was supposed to feel bad over Spencer's ambivalent feelings toward an old Whitesnake T-shirt...

Carlton was glad he'd already pulled into his quiet neighborhood or else he'd have probably caused a wreck the way he slammed on his brakes.

The only coherent thought he had for a moment was _Oh god_.

Spencer. _Shawn_ Spencer.

Son of Henry Spencer. Former _police detective_ Henry Spencer.

 _Shawn_ who was the right age to have graduated from high school in 1994 and to have been a young 17 years old then, who would've hated the idea of being a cop thanks to his overbearing policeman father.

Shawn _Spencer_ who made up stupid rules to childhood games, who had made very cutting remarks about his treatment of Berry, who had once slipped and called him Carly.

 _Shawn Spencer_ who made him want a man when he hadn't in thirteen or so years, since he'd last went to bed with a gangly kid with a whipcrack sense of humor and an outrageous boldness that was still endearing when he thought about it -- like the emails Spencer had once sent him.

He couldn't believe it -- wouldn't believe it. It would've been too amazing, too agonizing, too much like the fate that a 17-year-old Shawn had once spoke of, too much like a cruel cosmic joke that he'd managed to forget and remember so much simultaneously. 

Carlton didn't realize that he was still motionless in the middle of the street until a car came up behind him and started honking. He hit the gas pedal and, with shaking hands, drove on auto-pilot until he was pulling up in front of his house. 

There had to be way, he thought to himself, as he finally opened his front door, a way to prove to himself that it wasn't true, a concrete way. He'd already tried to use his mind to refute the terrifying theory but his memories were playing tricks on him and the holes he'd had of Shawn's face were already being filled with Spencer's features, just as memories of Shawn's body had once filled in for his lack of knowledge of Spencer's in his lust-driven fantasies.

He needed...he needed...something real of Shawn, something that he could look at and hold and use to assure himself that he'd reached a terrible, wrong conclusion.

Carlton was reaching for a cold beer from is refrigerator when a thought hit him -- a chance. He left the beer on the fridge shelf and tore down the hall, shrugging out of his jacket on the way. He stepped into his almost-empty hall closet and up on the foot ladder there, then shouldered open the small hatch that led to his attic.

All the boxes were coated in dust, untouched since he'd moved in over two years earlier. Some of the boxes hadn't been opened in much longer -- like the box he was looking for. He found it pushed against a far timber, still marked with the flourishing "M.A.S + Dorm Stuff" that he'd written on it when he had first moved in with Jenny.

Carlton grabbed the box and slid back out of the crawlspace. He carried it back with him to the kitchen and set it in the middle of his kitchen table, the box even dingier in the bright light. He finally got his hands on that cold beer, which he gulped down before he finally used a knife from the nearby block to break the its masking-tape seal. 

He sifted through the old books, old class notes, the strange pieces of memorabilia he'd picked up from Galina or Rodney or somebody else, down into the bottom of the box where his fingers wrapped around a dented metal box. Carlton sank down into a chair, the small metal box in front of him. He took another long drink from his beer and opened the lid, his fingers oddly gentle against the abused metal. 

There were old photographs of college friends, flyers from plays his actress-girlfriend had starred in, old bits of schedules, matchbooks from bars, and other odds and ends he'd managed to collect in a few semesters. But, there, buried at the bottom, was a plastic rectangle -- a not-so-cleverly made fake driver's license for one Shawn Steele of Anaheim.

He turned it over in his hands, remembering the night he'd confiscated it and shoved it down into the pockets of his jeans where he'd forgotten about it until laundry time and had then tossed it in his metal box, a little too sentimental to throw it away. It had stayed there all those years, as if waiting for that moment.

The face smiling up at him from the license was much younger, thinner through the cheeks but rounder in the chin, the nose and mouth and ears all a little too big for the rest of the face. But the squinting, smiling eyes were the same and the resemblance was undeniable.

Shawn was Spencer.

Shawn Spencer.

He ran his thumb over the picture, clearing away the dust it had accumulated over the years until the grin flashing up at him was as clear and white as the one he'd seen that afternoon in Spencer -- in Shawn's father's backyard.

Carlton laid the license on the table, the face still smiling up at him. For months, this had been in his face and he'd blithely ignored it, even with hundreds of little barbs from Shawn every chance he had. He could see now that he'd wanted to ignore it, even after he couldn't get Shawn -- Spencer -- out of his head.

As he leaned back in his seat with sigh, he could Shawn's voice -- youthful Shawn -- talking about fate and luck and how he'd been _ordained_ to meet him that night at that party like it was a wonderul miraculous force bringing them together.

But then he remembered what else he'd always heard about fate.

It was such a bitch.


	17. Chapter 17

Shawn was relaxing in front of the television watching the ESPN Classic airing of the 1981 Borg vs. Connors Wimbledon Semifinal match and rewarding himself for a job well done with some of his favorite Italian-to-Go takeout when he heard a knock at his door.

He looked at the door suspiciously, wondering who could possibly be at his door so late in the evening. Gus had decided to celebrate his loss of their Battleship rematch by heading home early, already impatient to start schmoozing with Dr. Mignotti the next day and it wasn't as if Henry ever showed up unannounced. So unless it was Ed McMann with a check, Shawn was at a loss as to who it could be.

He hit the mute button on his remote as Connors missed an easy volley and stumbled over to the front door. "Yeah?" he called through the door. "Who is it?"

"Open up, Spencer." The voice was muffled but it was unmistakable.

"Lassy?" 

He yanked the door open to find Lassiter standing in the hall, a look on his face that made Shawn think something terrible had happened. He swallowed his fear, figuring any bad news he could get wouldn't be delivered by the disheveled, unhappy man in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

Shawn always tried to keep his reactions to Lassiter's physical presence down to a minimum but the way Lassiter was looking at him with his very blue eyes made him stop for a fraction of a moment, struck by the uncharacteristic intensity of the look turned on him. Usually when Lassiter looked at him, there was irritation or annoyance in it, but this was something completely different.

"So...?" Shawn asked when Lassiter didn't say anything.

"We need to talk," Lassiter said without preamble.

"Oh..kay," Shawn agreed, moving aside so Lassiter could come inside the apartment. The detective was sans jacket, shirt sleeves pushed up and tie dangerously askew; that, coupled with the slight scent of alcohol on his breath and the roughened quality of his voice, left Shawn unsettled and unsure of what Lassiter might possibly want.

Once he'd closed and locked the door behind him, Shawn turned back to Lassiter, expecting his "guest" to be ready to get to the point. Instead, Lassiter was leaning back against the sofa, hands on his hips, watching Shawn with the intensity he'd noted earlier. If Shawn had to put words to that look, it was like Lassiter hadn't seen him in a very long time but since he'd seen him just that afternoon, Shawn was again at a loss.

"What's on your mind, Lassy?" Shawn asked, a little uncomfortable with the way Lassiter was watching him. It made him feel itchy.

Lassiter finally looked away. "A lot of things," he admitted, hand going to his forehead. "There's something I want to ask you."

"Shoot," he said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even in the face of his discomfort.

"I've got to know why," Lassiter said.

"Why?" Usually his question was _how_.

Lassiter's eyes darted back toward him. "Why you never said anything...Shawn."

And just like that, Shawn knew exactly what he was talking about. Lassiter had never deigned to call him by his first name and, if he had, it would've never sounded like that. Only _Carly_ had ever made it sound like that.

He wasn't sure how to react since he'd long since stopped expecting Lassiter to remember. He laughed shakily, only noticing he'd backed away when he ran into the breakfast bar. "Well, damn, Carly," he said with a levity he didn't feel. "It took you long enough. I'd given up on you."

Shawn could finally place the look Lassiter was giving him: he was searching his face, trying to make sure that his memory wasn't playing any more tricks on him. "It's me, Carlton," he assured him, the name on his mouth like he was speaking a secret. "Just older, wiser and with a much better haircut."

"I know," Lassiter told him. He didn't sound angry but he sounded strange, hollowed-out and bruised. "What I don't understand is why it never occurred to you to clue me in."

"Oh, I think that should be obvious," Shawn said dryly.

"No, no, it's not obvious to me," Lassiter said. "It's been _months_."

"Yes, it has," Shawn agreed. "And you never batted an eyelash. I just figured you didn't remember me."

Lassiter actually seemed taken aback by the suggestion. "Not _remember_ you?" He shook his head. "Not a problem, Shawn. That, I can promise."

It wasn't fair that just the sound of his name distracted him. Shawn shook himself, tried to stay focused even with his insides clenching in nervous knots -- something that hadn't happened since he was 17. "Well, you've been doing a damn good impression of it," he sniped, mostly to cover his distraction.

"You should've said something _immediately_ ," Lassiter said. 

Shawn snorted, crossing his arms defensively, still leaning against the breakfast bar, keeping a swatch of distance between them. "You mean before or after you tried to _arrest me for no good reason_? Or maybe later, after I outed you and your girlfriend to the station? Or maybe even later than that when you gleefully handcuffed me and tried to throw me in the back of your car? When would've been the best time for some reminiscing?"

"You have had ample time since then," he pointed out.

"Maybe I did," Shawn conceded. "But considering our last conversation years and years ago, I didn't think it'd help our already not-so-hot working relationship if you knew that not only was I the psychic you were trying to screw over now, but I was the kid you screwed over then."

Lassiter didn't seem to know what to say. "I never even made the connection," he said, more to himself than to Shawn.

"And what a blow that was to my ego," Shawn told him. "I figured I was at least good for vague recollection, if nothing else."

"I didn't forget," Lassiter told him, a hint of anger rising to the surface. "It's just not something I've dwelled on."

"Of course not," Shawn nodded. "Not exactly your proudest moment, was it?"

"No," he admitted.

Shawn didn't want to admit the stab of pain that caused, even years later. He was starting to feel hollowed-out and bruised himself. "I answered your question, Lassiter," he said. "Was there something else or...?"

"You don't think there's more that needs to be said?"

"And you do?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter dragged a hand through his hair. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"You've had months to get used to this," he reminded him. "I only just figured it out a few hours ago. Excuse me if I'm still playing catch-up here but this is a lot to process."

"Take all the time you need," Shawn told him, finally moving away from the breakfast bar. "Just don't take it here." He glanced in the direction of the door. "You know the way out."

Shawn made to brush by Lassiter on his way to couch, to turn his back on him and end the conversation but Carlton reached out and grabbed him by the arm -- not with the force he might used once but firm, staying him. "Damnit Shawn," he said quietly, his mouth close to Shawn's ear. "This isn't easy for me."

"Yes, because you can see how much fun this is for me," Shawn retorted, turning to look at him -- only to realize how close they'd ended up. It suddenly meant so much for them to be in each other's space and Shawn could feel the charge building between them.

Lassiter was the first to break, dropping his hold on Shawn's arm. "I didn't say that," he snapped. "It's just...not easy."

"So -- what?" Shawn asked, shrugging. "What is you want?"

"Could we just, I don't know, _talk_?" Lassiter asked.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Your wife brainwashed you with all that therapy, didn't she?"

Lassiter glared at him and it was the first thing that felt normal all night. 

"Fine," Shawn conceded, raising his hands in surrender. "Whatever. Just sit down because I'm not standing up all night."

They ended up on the sofa, each claiming a different end, still maintaining a careful distance. In the beginning, Shawn had imagined what it might have been like to have Lassiter remember but as the possibility of it happening had trickled away, he'd stopped thinking about it, stopped wondering what it would mean. All he could hear now was Gus's voice in his head, warning him about the trouble Lassiter would cause them when he found out the truth.

When Lassiter didn't seem to inclined to speak, Shawn shot him a dark look. "This is your hayride," he reminded him. "You wanna talk? Talk."

"Not sure where to start," Lassiter admitted, with a hint of the same ingenious honesty that had characterized his inebriated state. "Never thought I'd be having this conversation."

"That makes two of us."

"Never?"

"Well after the first few cases, yeah, I figured never," Shawn said. 

"I told you I didn't forget, Shawn."

"Whatever," Shawn shrugged, burying any part of him that might've cared. "I'm just saying."

"How long have you known?" Lassiter wanted to know.

"I never didn't."

"You kept dropping hints," he said, not accusingly, but pointedly. "You wanted me to figure it out."

"I wouldn't say _that_ ," Shawn told him.

"Then what would you call it?" Lassiter asked.

"Accidents," Shawn said, feeling defensive -- especially in the face of Lassiter's dubious expression. "Rapier wit. Bad mojo. Something, but not _hints_. Gus would've killed me."

"Guster knows." It wasn't a question. "Anyone else?"

"Do I include you or do you want the count from last week?" Shawn wanted to know. When Lassiter gave him one of those looks, he sighed and answered. "Counting you, the three of us."

"No one else?"

"Not unless you've been gabbing to your friends," Shawn retorted. "Oh wait, you wouldn't do that, even if you had remembered." The bitterness bubbled to the surface no matter how much he fought it, tainting his words with a bite he'd wanted to avoid. 

"Shawn..." He hated that Lassiter kept using his name like that, like a weapon against him.

He didn't want to hear whatever Lassiter was going to say. Shawn jumped to his feet. "Well, look at the time," he said, looking at this spot on his wrist where his watch would've been had he been wearing it. "It's been real, but I'm beat. How about we pick this up some other time? Like never?"

"We can't just ignore this," Lassiter said, rising to his feet.

"Why not? You did." Shawn shot back.

"I swear, it wasn't like I didn't recognize you _on purpose_ ," he snapped back.

"And what's your excuse for the time before that?" Shawn said, without thinking. "You chose to ignore a lot when you decided it wasn't worth it, didn't you?"

Lassiter's eyes went wide, his irises suddenly too painfully blue for Shawn to focus on. His own heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty and shaky and he felt like a basket case -- or a lovesick teenager. 

He wasn't sure which was worse. 

**

Carlton might've been playing catch-up but he was learning fast. What had Guster told him? About what he'd done to Shawn? When he'd first said it, it hadn't meant much to him and he hadn't actually thought about since, too wrapped up in his own revelations. But, standing there, hearing the hints of hurt in Shawn's voice, faced with the carefully blank expression, he remembered clearly that Guster had accused him of causing major damage to his best friend -- which had been the last thing he'd wanted to do.

He was still trying to understand how he could've ever let himself forget anything about Shawn in the first place or how he'd ignored all the clues staring him in the face for so long. Everything about "Spencer" screamed the Shawn from his memories, the gestures, the expressions, everything about how he moved and breathed and spoke. Some of the affectations were more finely-honed -- better, more clever masks -- and he'd long lost that naivety that had colored his younger self but the same could be said for anyone who'd grown out of his teenaged years.

"It wasn't like that," Carlton finally said. "It wasn't _meant_ to be like that."

"Doesn't matter," Shawn told him. "It's ancient history."

"Obviously not."

Shawn's eyebrows rose. "You're the one digging up bones, Carly. I made my peace a long time ago."

He said the words but Carlton didn't believe them. "Doesn't seem that way to me."

"Well, you know what?" Shawn asked. "I don't care!"

There were so many things Carlton wanted to do but he wasn't sure if he should do any of them. In some ways, he felt like he was still dealing with Spencer, the so-called psychic who he'd lusted after and cursed under his breath for months, the man he'd grudgingly started to respect and even like lately. In others, this was Shawn, the echoes of someone who'd existed only in his mind for years, that had haunted him with bittersweet regrets. He'd yet to reconcile the two in his head.

"You couldn't be worth it," Carlton told him, exasperated. "Don't you understand that?"

Shawn lifted a hand, as if he'd wanted to point but thought better of it. "We already had this discussion once. We don't really need to have it again." He skirted around the sofa, past Carlton. "There's this thing called a door," he pointed at it. "Why don't you try using it?"

"If you'd actually listen for a damn minute, maybe you'd understand what I'm saying!"

"Yes, what is it you're saying, Lassy?" Shawn asked, tone sharp. "Are you saying, what? You're saying something about something that happened a long time ago and that nobody cares about now."

"Cut the crap, Spencer," he barked. "You and I both know it does matter or else we wouldn't be going around in circles like this!"

Shawn sighed and slumped against the back of the sofa, tension suddenly draining away. "Well, at least that sounds familiar."

"Shawn..."

"Look, Carlton," he cut in. "As interesting as our past is, it doesn't change anything. You still can't stand me and I still -- you know -- feel about the same. The fact that there's some history there only means it makes _sense_."

"I don't -- I _can_ stand you," Carlton admitted, almost embarrassed by the confession. 

"Stand who? Spencer or _Shawn_?" he asked, rather astutely in Carlton's opinion.

Carlton shot him a dark look since he wasn't too sure of the distinction himself. "I always -- liked -- Shawn," he said quietly. "Even when I had to stop seeing you it wasn't because I didn't."

"Yeah, not worth it, I remember."

"I couldn't let you be worth it," he said again as he came around to the side of the sofa as Shawn. Shawn shot Carlton a look but didn't move away. "Don't see you? I knew if I didn't get out soon, I wouldn't be able to and I'd have to kiss my future goodbye."

"And what would Carlton Lassiter be if he wasn't a cop?"

He wasn't sure if Shawn was being sarcastic or not but he nodded. "As for Spencer...for god's sake, I know you're not a psychic. I'm even more convinced now. And you _are_ a pain in my ass." He hurried along before the mischievous look on Shawn's face became whatever colorless remark he was thinking up. "But you do do the job and...I like to think that my behavior toward you has reflected that of late."

"I astound you," Shawn said, grinning a little for the first time all night.

"I wouldn't quite put it like that," he said.

"Oh yes you would," Shawn told him, grin even wider. He was also looking over at him from beneath his lashes -- a distinctively flirty look. 

A day ago, he would've dismissed anything from Spencer that he could call "flirty" as nothing more than the man's default setting but it felt differently now, in the intimacy of his home, in the intimacy of their discussion. Carlton's breath quickened at the mere hope that Shawn might be mean it. 

"Anyway..."

"Yes, anyway," Shawn agreed, moving a little closer. "You've done the near-impossible and gotten my full attention. I'm yours, Carly, do your thing."

Carlton was mostly sure by "thing," Shawn had meant for him to say whatever it was he'd originally wanted to say but that knowledge didn't stop his mind from going to other, more wicked places. His gaze narrowed and trailed down from Shawn's eyes to his mouth. 

"Or...we could not," Shawn suggested softly, moving a little closer. "We could...do...something else..."

There was a voice -- a logical one -- that was yelling for him to get out of there before something happened because his mind was still reeling and it wasn't a good time for him to be making decisions that would negate months' and years' worth of other things he'd decided upon.

Shawn was still waiting for a reply; he shifted his weight a little, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of tongue.

Like he had so many times with around _him_ \-- Shawn, Spencer, whoever -- Carlton ignored logic and moved just a little more, a little closer to Shawn. It didn't take much -- Shawn had done most of the work, already, and Carlton's hand rose, almost of his own accord. He wasn't sure what he wanted, only that the urge to touch was there. 

But he stopped himself, curling up the reaching fingers, drawing away. 

Shawn noticed. 

Where Carlton faltered, Shawn did not. As soon as he saw Carlton draw back, Shawn's hand snapped up and grabbed a handful of his loose, dangling tie which he gave a tug to bring their lips together. Carlton balked for a second, overwhelmed with the sudden fulfillment of several of his fantasies, but Shawn's tongue was much too insistent to be ignored and Carlton stopped trying to think his way through it.

The body under his hands definitely wasn't the kid he remembered; it was much closer to the hard planes he'd been imagining ever since he caught a look at Shawn changing in the station's locker room. Shawn's hands had slid to his hair, strong and sure enough to keep him from escaping the kiss -- not that Carlton had much thought about escaping at the moment.

But slowly his mind began to re-assert itself, reminding him that he was making the same mistake he'd made thirteen years before. He was jumping into something he hadn't thought through, something that could end up blowing up in his face. And Carlton knew that he hadn't had time to process everything that had happened since he'd finally got wind of the truth up until that moment now, with Shawn's hands working frantically at buttons on his shirt.

Carlton pulled away, reaching down between them to still Shawn's busy hands. He looked confused, glancing from his trapped hands up into Carlton's face. "What? What's wrong? This, I was liking."

"I've...I think it's time for me to leave," he said, voice rough and body rebelling against the idea of even taking his hands off Shawn. 

"What? No, no, that's the last thing you need to do!" Shawn protested.

"I'm sorry," he said as he forced him to step away. "I need to think. I need to..."

"Never took you for a tease," Shawn said softly, breathless and incredulous as he leaned heavily against the back of the sofa. 

"I've got to go," he finally said, using every bit of willpower he had to reach the front door and throw it open. "Good night, Shawn."

Carlton didn't look back as he stepped out into the hall but he could hear Shawn's frustrated groan and what sounded like him sitting down hard on the sofa as the door slammed shut. He didn't stop moving until he reached his car and slid into the driver's seat. He didn't leave immediately; he sat in the darkness, glancing up at the window he knew was Shawn's apartment. 

He wasn't sure of much but Carlton was sure of one thing: he had to think this through. The last thing he wanted to do was to repeat the same mistakes he'd made the first time around.


	18. Chapter 18

Over the years Shawn had developed a decidedly lackadaisical approach to sex, one which boiled down to going after the sure bets and ignoring the long shots. He hadn't worked for sex in years. In fact, the last time he could remember having to work to get someone into his bed had been with Carlton all those years before and even that hadn't been too hard of a sell. That Shawn didn't have much experience was a woo-er didn't make him any less determined, though -- he wasn't giving up on Lassy just yet.

Shawn had been completely truthful when he'd told Carlton that he had long since stopped expecting the detective to figure it out. His sudden epiphany had been unexpected but not certainly unwelcome, especially since the truth had driven him to Shawn's door for a nostalgic make out session. The fact that Lassy had bolted before things had gotten good was frustrating but not disheartening.

Maybe if Lassiter had shown up pissed or horrified or disgusted, Shawn would've just given up on the whole thing and let it all sink back into the past like Gus kept telling him to but Carlton had shown up so far from all of those that he'd been pleasantly surprised once the initial shock had worn off. Shawn couldn't help but be hopeful, not when Carlton's first instinct after finding out the truth had been to come over to his apartment and demand face-time. Shawn knew that Carlton had spent a lot of time with his wife in therapy; after two years of it, talking things out had to be something like foreplay for him. 

Coupled with the actual foreplay, it was damn near as close to an engraved invitation he could expect from Carlton Lassiter.

Shawn was still very think-y about the whole thing a day or two later when he finally got around to telling Gus about it. He'd been avoiding the station for those days and his friend had eventually demanded a reason for his atypical behavior.

"Lassiter knows the truth," he explained without preamble.

"What?" Gus's eyes were wide. "How do you know?"

"He came by to see me," Shawn told him.

"He did? When?" Gus asked, still more alarmed than Shawn thought appropriate. "What did he say?"

"Chill, Gus, really," Shawn told him. "It wasn't a big deal!"

"Shawn," he said warningly. 

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. He showed up at my apartment, demanded to know why I hadn't mentioned this all to him before now, and then we talked a little and made out and then, uh, he ran away, bringing the evening to rather unspectacular end."

"You did _what_?!" Gus exclaimed, wincing. "Shawn!" 

"I don't want to hear it, Gus!" Shawn whined, hating that feeling he got whenever Gus lectured at him. At his most disapproving, Gus could channel Henry so perfectly it was scary.

"Bad news, Shawn. Bad news!" Gus told him. "I thought we had decided you messing around with Lassiter was a bad idea!"

"You decided and I agreed with you to shut you up," Shawn explained. "But that was before Lassy showed me that this all wasn't exactly one-sided."

"And you're going to do something about it?" Gus looked like he dreaded the answer.

"Of course I am," Shawn told him, nothing but truth between him and Gus -- at least in a situation like this.

"Because it worked out so well the last _two_ times."

"You don't have to like it," he told him. "But it's not gonna stop me."

Gus sighed. "I know."

"Hey, we're older, wiser and I have a lot more tricks up my sleeves," he assured him. "Lassy won't know what hit him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Gus admitted.

Luckily for Shawn, Gus couldn't continue with his tirade for much longer because he had to finish the route for his "real" job and by the time he was finished, his friend's ire had long since cooled. Of course, Gus was back to giving him worried looks whenever he thought Shawn couldn't see him but he'd gotten used to that over the years. Still, without any cases and without the option of visiting the station, both Gus and Shawn ended up lounging around the office with little to occupy them except the usual time-wasting antics.

Until his dad showed up with a case for them.

Sometimes Shawn wondered if Henry knew him at all because anyone who'd known him his whole life should've known that telling him to do something usually got them the opposite result. So it should've been obvious to anyone that the last thing he'd been telling Bill Peterson was to go to the police -- especially when Shawn was having to stay as far away as possible at the moment.

The case of the missing, poker-playing Brandon Peterson was a nice diversion from his thoughts, thoughts that were almost exclusively focused on Carlton. Despite the confident tone he'd taken during his argument with Gus, Shawn wasn't so sure he knew what the hell he was going to do to get Lassy in bed, only that he was going to try his damnedest. It wasn't his usual style but Shawn figured that Carlton was worth a little work on his part.

Jules's invitation to the surprise birthday party that she was throwing for Carlton came at just the right moment and Shawn decided it would be the perfect time to finally catch up with him again. There would be other people around but no work to distract them and Lassiter would be pissed enough at Juliet for surprising him that Shawn would likely to escape most of the detective's wrath.

He didn't realize just how true his assessment was until Carlton started brandishing a gun at the lawn full of guests he found waiting for him that evening. The fact that Juliet had invited what looked to be half of the criminals that Lassiter had ever arrested was mortifyingly hilarious, though he doubted either detective would appreciate his opinion on the subject. By mutual cowardice, though, Gus and Shawn had decided to beat a hasty retreat from the scene even though Shawn had wanted to stop and ask Lulu what laws she had broken to get starred in Lassiter's book.

But instead of leaving completely, Shawn sweet-talked Gus into buying him some dinner from a drive-thru window that they ate sitting in the car at a nearby park. If Gus seemed suspicious about Shawn's desire to stay in Lassy's neighborhood, he didn't show it which meant that his best friend was naively oblivious as usual. It was nice that some things stayed the same year-in and year-out, Shawn decided.

"You wanna go back to the office or should I drop you at home?" Gus asked as he finished stuffing the crinkled wrappers from his fast food into the paper bag. 

"Neither," Shawn told him, choosing to toss his hamburger wrapper through the open window and into the nearby park trashcan. When he made it, he smirked at Gus who rolled his eyes. "Drop me back at Lassiter's."

"Why?" Gus demanded to know, frowning.

"He's had a bad day, probably needs a friend."

"And that qualifies you how?" Gus sniped.

"Ouch!" Shawn winced for effect. "Harsh, Gus. Very harsh. Just drop me off, _please_."

Gus shot him a glare but grudgingly started the car. "I'm leaving your ass there," he muttered. "And I'm not waiting. And you better not call me for a ride when you get stranded because I'm not coming back."

Shawn rolled his eyes, unaffected by Gus's mumbling -- which didn't let up until the little blue car was pulling up in front of Lassiter's now-empty yard. Shawn noted that the Crown Victoria was still there, though, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Later, man," he told Gus as he got out of the car. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"I won't be answering," Gus threatened.

"Sure you will, buddy," Shawn argued easily. "Much too nosy not to."

He didn't wait for Gus's reply; he padded up the porch steps and was standing at the front door when he heard the sound of his friend's car pulling away. Even without much eavesdropping, Shawn could heard the clunky sounds of Lassiter dragging something down the hall -- probably a suitcase from his bedroom, he figured, recalling the layout of the house from his past visit.

Instead of knocking or just barging in, Shawn decided to wait on the porch, leaning back against the house, arms folded in his best casual pose. It only took about ten minutes of slouching and waiting before the front door was slung open and Lassiter stepped outside, lugging a suitcase and a garment bag.

"Need a hand?" Shawn offered, stepping forward.

Carlton was obviously startled but he recovered quickly to glare at Shawn. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help," he said. 

"I don't need any help but thanks." The words were sarcastic. 

"And..." Shawn continued as if Carlton hadn't interrupted him. "I came to return an old favor and offer you a place to stay for the night."

Carlton stilled, dropping his luggage, as he stared at him curiously. "What old favor?"

"Don't you remember?" Shawn asked, trying to keep the sore edge out of his voice. "The first night we met, you let me sleep in your dorm because I didn't have anywhere else to go. Thought it was time I repaid the kindness."

"Spencer..." Carlton began uncertainly. 

" _Shawn_ ," Shawn corrected him. "Look, it's your birthday and this sucks and the last place you need to be staying is in some motel room somewhere. I've got a sofa bed and, well..."

Carlton watched him for a minute, blue eyes searching his face. Shawn tried to school his expression but he didn't know how well he was doing -- a disheveled Carlton was a distracting one with his hair all out of place and his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up and Shawn kept letting his mind and eyes wander.

Something must've done it because Lassiter finally sighed. "I guess if you're offering..."

"I definitely am," Shawn assured him, breezily walking over and picking up the garment bag which he swung over his shoulder. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

Carlton was quiet for most of the drive over to his apartment and Shawn wasn't really in the mood to talk since he was preoccupied with thinking. Asking Lassy to stay the night had been mostly a spur-of-the-moment thing that he'd come up with while he and Gus had been running from the criminals but the more he thought about it, the more he knew that it was looking like the perfect chance for him. If the past could be applied to the present, all he'd ever needed to overcome a reluctant Carlton Lassiter was time and Carly's inability to escape. 

Shawn settled back into his seat, flicking a sly grin and quick glance in Carlton's direction. He was still quiet, face serious, a little too intent on his driving duties. Shawn didn't know what was going on in that head of his but it was obviously something dismal; still there was a distinct lack of anger that Shawn found surprising. He had expected him to still be spitting nails over the whole fiasco.

"So, uh, how ya feeling?" he asked lamely.

"How do you think?" he shot back.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "I expected you to be pissed but you're not. Did the Chief slip you a valium or something?"

"No," he answered. "I just...O'Hara's heart was in the right place and -- I hate to move. I really liked the house."

Shawn smiled. "You're just an old softie, Carly."

Carlton shot him a dark look and grunted his disapproval.

There wasn't any more talking after that but they soon pulled up in front of Shawn's building. Once again Shawn commandeered the lighter garment bag and left Carlton to lug the heavier suitcase but the pair quickly made it up to Shawn's apartment. 

Things were awkward as soon as they stepped inside, as if Carlton had just remembered what they'd been doing the last time he'd been in that living room but Shawn chose to ignore it, bulldozing through the silence with chatter, a running commentary about the Peterson case, and directions about where Lassiter could leave his bags.

When everything was finally squared away and Lassiter was still standing near the breakfast bar, looking very uncertain, Shawn did the only thing he could think of.

"So, I'm hungry. How do you feel about Chinese?"

**

Carlton had known as soon as he'd accepted Shawn's offer that it was a bad idea but he hadn't been quite up to facing another night in an anonymous hotel room. The mere thought of it brought back unpleasant memories from the earliest days of his split with Jenny and those were the last recollections he wanted to have on his mind on his birthday.

At the moment, he was having a terrible case of deja vu: he was sitting on Shawn's couch, eating Chinese takeout out of little white boxes, watching a shoeless Shawn deftly shovel rice into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks. It reminded him of memories much more pleasant but more bittersweet than a hotel room would've -- the 4th of July weekend he spent with Shawn so many years ago.

Still, staying at Shawn's had been a bad idea; Carlton felt the truth of that in his bones. The last time he'd been on that same couch he'd let himself get carried away and had had to all but flee before he'd done something stupid like sleep with Spencer. He'd promised himself that night that he'd take his time and think things through, only to do the exact opposite and purposely avoid thinking about Shawn or the situation in the time since. 

He was totally unprepared to spend an entire night under the same roof as Shawn Spencer.

"You finished?" Shawn -- Spencer -- Shawn asked, nodding toward the half-empty carton that Carlton hadn't take a bite from for several minutes. "If you are, I can throw it in the fridge, you can eat it tomorrow."

"Uh, sure," Carlton said, handing over his mushu pork. Shawn snagged it up along with his own half-filled carton and headed over to the kitchen. Silence descended over them; Shawn had done the job of keeping up a steady stream of conversation while they'd eaten but he'd obviously run out of inane things to blabber about because he'd fallen silent. Carlton figured it was his turn and groped for some innocuous topic. His mind finally came back to Spencer's retelling of his and Guster's latest case. "So how did you get Peterson's money back?"

"What? Oh." Carlton heard the sound of the refrigerator door closing and then Shawn was coming back around to sit on his end of the sofa. "Well, I won it back."

"How?"

Shawn shot him a look. "How do you think, Carly? I told you I've never lost a game of poker in my life."

"And that's still true, all these years later?" Carlton asked, dubious. It was finally starting to sink in that this man before him was Shawn and that that history existed. It was starting to feel less strange to ask _Spencer_ things about _Shawn_.

"Of course!" Shawn leaned back, stretching in satisfaction. Carlton recognized it was an expression of smugness. "I've only gotten better with age."

It was one of Spencer's usual flippant remarks but it was infused with just enough innuendo that Carlton looked at him askance. He only received one of those obviously-fake looks of innocence in return.

Conversation died again and not even the television could distract both of them from the growing unease. Finally Carlton sighed. "I don't know about you, Spencer, but I'm wiped. Any chance I can go ahead and crash?"

Shawn stood up, clicking off the television with the remote. "Yeah, sure, no problem. I'll just go grab some extra sheets and stuff." He headed off down the darkened hall, toward what Carlton assumed was his bedroom. "You can pull out that sofa bed if you want or whatever."

He eyed the sofa and decided that he was too tired to bother with pulling out the sofa bed and he'd just make do with the sofa itself. He figured he wouldn't be getting that much sleep anyway, regardless of what he slept on. Given the events of the day and the unusual turn of things during the evening, he expected that he'd probably just toss and turn for a few hours and then head down to the station where he could shower, change and start looking for a new place.

"Okay, I didn't know what you'd want," Shawn began as he stepped back into the living room, his head hidden behind the pile of blankets, sheets and pillows he was carrying. "Like, are you a man of comfort with lots of pillows and fluffy softness? Or are you more of a Spartan type, you know, all bed-of-nails and a rock for your head?" He came around and dropped the armload of bedding on the couch. "So, use whatever."

Carlton didn't want to admit it but he was touched by Shawn's seemingly genuine consideration. "This is more than fine. Thanks, Spen -- Shawn."

He was rewarded with a grin from Shawn for his trouble. "Yeah, no problem, man," he said. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other before Shawn cleared his throat and Carlton guiltily broke the eye contract. "Well, I'll just leave you to it, then. Um..." He pointed toward the wall switch for the lights. "That's the lights and the doors are all locked and..." Shawn seemed to realized that he was rambling and Carlton was fascinated by the sight of a nervous Shawn Spencer. "I'm just gonna go now. Goodnight."

Carlton watched him beat a hasty retreat, disappearing down the hall with nothing more than a faint "Bathroom's on the right!" before he heard a door slam shut. From past experience, Carlton made short work of making up the sofa to his satisfaction, tossing the extra blanket and sheets into a nearby chair. After flicking off the lights and plunging the room into soft darkness, he removed his tie, his shoes and socks but debated about further undress. In the end, he shrugged out of his shirt and trousers, making do with his boxers and undershirt for nightclothes.

Once he was settled on the couch, his hypothesis was proven correct because he couldn't remember ever being more awake in his life. There was no lights on in the room but the faint glow of streetlamps and traffic lights coming from the front window saved the room from total darkness and Carlton's eyes could make out faint shapes if he concentrated on them. Resigned to a sleepless night, Carlton laced his hands behind his head and lay on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Spending the night on Spencer's couch was not how he'd imagined he'd spend his birthday night and, as strange as it seemed, he couldn't decide if the reality was better or worse than what he'd had planned. A nice dinner with an old college friend, then home alone -- not the wild party that O'Hara had wanted, either, but it would've been enough for him. Carlton was just glad he'd remembered to call Galina and cancel before he'd come over to Shawn's.

He was finally starting to drift off a few minutes later when he caught the faint sound of footsteps -- Shawn, coming down the hall. His bare feet were soft but he was heavy-footed enough that Carlton could hear the slap of his heels against the wooden floor.

He had to raise himself up on an elbow to see over the back of the couch but when he did, Carlton saw Shawn leaning against a wall. Darkness leant him little chance to see Shawn's face but he could make out the outline of his folded arms, could tell that he was clad in a T-shirt and boxers. "Something wrong?" he asked Shawn.

"This isn't how you expected to spend your birthday, is it?" he asked, softly but ironically, his tone classic Spencer.

"No," Carlton admitted, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "But it could been worse."

"Yeah," Shawn snorted. "I could be Lulu."

Carlton, though amused, did not let it show in his voice. "Is there a reason you came out here to wake me up?"

"Yes." Carlton watched Shawn move toward him, until he was leaning over the back of the sofa, the same back that separated them. "Not that you were asleep. I could hear you thinking all the way in my room."

It was the truth so he didn't deny it. "What do you want?"

Shawn leaned in a little, just enough to make Carlton's breath catch in his throat. "You don't have to sleep out here, you know."

If his voice had been false, sultry or even seductive, he probably could've shrugged it off but Shawn's voice was soft, matter-of-fact -- as close to sincere as Carlton had ever heard him in years.

"And things were going so well," he sighed, trying to resist the temptation of what Shawn was offering.

"But things could be so much better," Shawn said, his usual breezy confidence ebbing into his reply. The darkness left Shawn's face in too much shadow for Carlton to read it but the tilt of his head told him something -- he just wasn't sure what. "Like they could've been the other night if you hadn't ran out of here."

"This is a bad idea," Carlton said, as much to himself as to Shawn.

The warning didn't stop him from leaning closer, until they were almost nose to nose. "Well, I think you're wrong," he said, breath hot against Carlton's skin. 

He was going to reply -- he wasn't sure with what but Shawn's statement demanded an answer -- but he didn't have the chance because Shawn was kissing him, soft, searching lips and little else as he leaned in over the back of the sofa. He reacted as he always did, instantly, hungrily, wanting more as he reached for him, his hand ghosting over an ear and the skin behind it as Shawn eased back. 

Carlton could only imagine the triumphant, glazed-eyed look on Shawn's face but he could hear it in his voice. "See what I mean?"

"I can't do this," he said quietly, wishing he sounded less plaintive and more authoritative. 

Shawn stilled and then slumped down with a sigh, his head resting briefly against Carlton's shoulder before he straightened completely. "Deja vu all over again," he said sadly. "What I can't understand is why you have to make this so much harder than it has to be."

"This is real life," he snapped, sitting up completely, swinging his feet to the floor. "Real life _is_ complicated, Shawn. It's not all just about doing what we want and when, regardless of the consequences. It's not that easy."

"That's where you're wrong a million times over, Lassy," Shawn disagreed. Carlton let out a grunt of surprise as Shawn scaled over the back of the couch, landing in a heap of limbs on the cushion where Carlton's legs had been. "Everything about this is easy. The place is easy, the time is easy..." Shawn closed the distance between them, a welcomed but unfamiliar weight settling against him. " _I_ am so, so easy. All you have to do is say the word and I could be _alot_ easier, too." He brushed a kiss against Carlton's jaw, one hand sliding down the front of Carlton's T-shirt. "The only thing complicated in this situation is you."

It sounded suspiciously like something a 17 year old Shawn had once told him but he'd been right when he said he'd improved with age because Carlton was suddenly having a difficult time remembering why he'd been resisting the first place. He had wanted Spencer long before he liked him and he'd dreamed about Shawn for years, bearing the guilt it drummed up in him every time he let himself fantasize about the kid he'd tried to forget. Now, he was being offered everything he'd been wanting wrapped into one very attractive and willing package and Carlton was beginning to think that it was probably the best idea he'd ever had.

He'd thought that before, of course, about Shawn and regretted it later but, at that moment, he didn't really care about the past.

Before he'd actually come to a decision in his head, Carlton had Shawn pinned under him, tongue plundering his mouth as Shawn grappled with pulling his undershirt off of him. They finally had to pull their mouths apart so that Shawn would yank the shirt from Carlton's body and Carlton leaned down, mouth to Shawn's ear. "What's the word?"

Shawn looked at him for a moment, almost confused, before he started grinning. He kissed Carlton once more before he began pushing against his bare shoulders until he was no longer trapped beneath him. "I think that'll work," Shawn told him, still grinning, and at such proximity Carlton could see the slight glistening of where his tongue had swiped over his lips, and could almost make out a flush beneath Shawn's tan; it was a good look on him.

They stumbled toward the hallway, around the couch, both of the more concerned with keeping their hands on each other than actually reaching the bed. Carlton wasn't complaining even when his back hit the wall again, his hands busy stripping Shawn of his shirt. Shawn paused in his exploration of Carlton's skin only long enough for the shirt to be pulled over his head before his hands were back on him, skimming through chest hair on a downward path.

"Shawn," Carlton growled against his mouth. "Bedroom?"

"This works for me," Shawn breathed, his fingers playing with the band of Carlton's boxers. "I can make this work."

"No," Carlton objected laughingly, equal parts amusement, affection and exasperation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed during sex; things had been tense with Jenny long before he'd moved out and there hadn't been much humor in his relationship with Lucinda. 

Shawn looked like he wanted to say something -- probably something that would make Carlton so wild that he'd end up agreeing to having sex in the hallway -- but Carlton cut off by dragging their mouths together again, pouring everything he'd felt for Shawn in any carnation into the kiss. 

"Bedroom, now," Carlton ordered, his voice unusually low and rough.

He felt Shawn shiver in his arms and his eyes glazed for a second before he fixed Carlton with a very filthy grin. "Yes, sir," he teased, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him along as they reached the slightly opened door. "Come on, Carly. Time to make this birthday memorable."

As Carlton pulled Shawn into his arms once again as they cleared the threshold, he didn't doubt that this birthday would be his most unforgettable.


	19. Chapter 19

After the rather ignoble end to their first acquaintance, Shawn figured that there wasn't much else that Carlton could do to hurt him any more than he had with that breakup speech -- until he woke up all alone the morning after Lassy's birthday.

There was a note, at least; Shawn found it on the breakfast bar that separated his living room from his kitchen, starkly white against the dark countertop. He spared a moment to wonder where Carly had found the paper in his place and to admire the detective's crisp, bold penmanship before he finally read the short letter. Apparently, Lassy had enjoyed himself the night before but he had a lot to do and a lot to think about and thought that they should take a few days to "put events in perspective." But he did promise to call in a day or two and had at least signed his name.

It was like he was seventeen years old again: Shawn spent the morning moping around his house, pretending to straighten up and do other useful things when all he really did was think unhappy thoughts. At first, he was just pissed at Carlton for taking off before he woke up but the more he thought about it, the more his anger faded. As much as he hated to admit it, taking a few days wasn't such a bad idea; Lassiter wasn't the only one who needed to do some thinking.

Because it had seemed like such a distant goal, Shawn hadn't thought much about what would happen after he actually got Carly in bed again. But he'd done it and now the future loomed ominously because he wasn't even sure of what he wanted, let alone of what might actually happen. The simple fact -- one that left him uncomfortable even if it was the god's honest truth -- was that there _had_ to be something else coming. Shawn might've been perfectly willing to just sleep with everyone else in the world but this thing was different and even he knew that there was more to it than that.

It was a scary, sobering realization for Shawn since he'd never taken the time to care in the past. Oh, he'd liked almost everyone he'd ever slept with but it had always been a wispy, transient kind of feeling, the same way he'd profess to liking a bubblegum pop song on the radio, one forgotten as soon as the radio station went to a commercial break. But the one thing he'd never been able to do was forget Carlton and now it was so far past possible he didn't want to think about it. And there was no way that Shawn would be satisfied with just one night of great sex, or even a string of them -- another surprising twist.

It was all adding up to him wanting something that suspiciously sounded like a relationship and that was another huge first for Shawn and that was scary as hell for someone who'd always considered a second date too much complication for his life.

By the time Gus came to pick him up for work that morning, Shawn was actually grateful for the few days' grace that Carlton had asked for. 

"You didn't call," Gus said accusingly as soon as he arrived. 

Shawn rolled his eyes. "You said you wouldn't answer," he reminded him.

"Like you don't know better," Gus replied.

It didn't take his best friend long to figure out that Shawn was a little off that morning; as soon as they reached the Psych office, Gus was bursting to ask the questions that must've been running through his head the entire drive over. 

"What's up with you?"

Shawn sighed and sank into his desk chair. "Stuff," he said evasively.

That only earned him a suspicious look and a frown. "Stuff with Lassiter?"

Shawn deliberated for a minute and then decided on the truth. "Yes."

Gus sighed, frown deepening. "What happened?"

"He spent the night," Shawn told him bluntly. "What do you think?"

His friend must've sensed his unusual reluctance to talk about his sexual exploits because Gus stopped asking questions after that, even though Shawn caught him staring at him a few times over the course of the day. Shawn ignored him and busied himself with whatever ridiculous task he could find which whiled away the morning hours. After lunch, he had to deal with a visit from Henry who came by to chat about the end of the Peterson case one more time. 

Later that afternoon, Kiki -- the young daughter of Mr. Soong, the owner of a small Chinese restaurant from around the corner -- came by, begging him to use his psychic skills to find her missing puppy. With Gus gone, nothing to do and a soft spot for kids with pets, Shawn agreed and ended up spending several hours traipsing up and down the beach with a ten-year-old in search of her six-month-old Labrador before they located him begging for scraps from a hot dog vendor who was glad to see them lead the dog away.

Several days passed in the same kind of lazy directionless way, though Shawn didn't find himself looking for lost dogs or doing free cases anymore. Halloween came and went without too much fanfare from either Gus or Shawn, though the discount sales on November 1st roused Shawn enough that he made a sweep of them and filled the office with half-eaten bags of every kind of candy imaginable.

Mostly, he loitered around his office and surfed the web, idly finding himself drawn to travel sites for far-off places like Buenos Aires and Sun City and Amsterdam -- a sure sign he was growing more antsy by the day. He took it as a sign that he needed some fresh air and headed out to do a little beach combing.

When he finally made it back to the office, Gus had returned from working at his real job and was giving him those looks again, the same ones that had been irritating him for almost a week now.

"What?" he asked, feeling those dark eyes boring into the back of his head while he watched TV.

"You really like him, don't you?" Gus asked, far too seriously for Shawn's liking.

"Cato? Yes, he's my favorite '60s superhero sidekick, way cooler than Robin's pansy ass."

But Gus wouldn't be distracted. "I mean Lassiter, Shawn. You _knew_ that."

"Maybe I just don't want to have this conversation _again_ ," he sniped.

Gus sighed. "What if I have something different to say?"

"You mean, other than _This is a bad idea, Shawn!_ or _Don't do this!_ or _Have you lost your mind?_ or something else along those lines?" Shawn feigned surprise.

"Actually, yes," Gus admitted. He paused, as if searching for words. "Look, I think we've established how I feel about this."

"We have."

"But you know that...I'd learn to be cool with it," Gus continued. "If it was really what you wanted to do. I'd -- deal."

"And what brought on this change of heart, Burton?"

"What do you think?" Gus asked. "Look at how you've been since -- you know. It's like we're in high school again and you just stopped going to classes because you're so hung up on the guy."

"Oh, this is completely different," he disagreed even though he didn't quite believe it himself.

"Yeah, right." Gus gave him a look that said the same thing. "It's exactly the same and you know it."

Shawn shrugged.

"I'm just saying...if you think you can actually make this work, go for it. It's not like you haven't been in love with the guy for years."

Shawn winced. "Can we not use the L-word, Gus?" he asked. It was a terrifying word, one he'd never used in connection with himself and anyone other than his mother and Gus -- and the latter had only been in his head.

"The L-wo...you mean, love?" Gus asked. At Shawn's uncomfortable expression, he laughed, shaking his head. "Get over it, man. I've been with you since the beginning and if it ain't love, I don't know what it is."

The certainty in Gus's voice made Shawn antsy all over again and he suddenly felt the need to clean out the office refrigerator -- an impulse he'd never had in his whole life before that moment -- if only to escape Gus's gloating, knowing expression. He settled for bouncing a balled-up piece of paper from his legal pad off Gus's forehead, grinning when his friend glared at him from around his laptop screen.

The tension around the office eased considerably after their conversation, so much so that things started to feel normal again, with the notable exception that Shawn was still avoiding the police station. Carlton had called him once but he'd chickened out of answering. Lassy hadn't bothered leaving him a message and Shawn hadn't dared to return the call blind. He decided to wait until he was absolutely sure of what he wanted to do before he actually spoke to Carlton again. 

Recovering his equilibrium and needing less time for his thoughts, the lack of cases to solve was starting to bother him -- one of the reasons that he was absurdly glad to see Juliet in her undercover get-up at the office when he and Gus returned from their racquetball game. And while he did find Juliet channeling her Mary Lou character rather alarming, he was glad that it was a case in which Lassy was not involved.

The fact that it involved Scary Sherry and Wispy Sunny Pines almost made him change his mind but Shawn sucked it up as best he could -- little girl screaming and panicking aside -- and dedicated himself to helping Jules solve her solo case. He was glad he did, too, when his investigation made him realize that Juliet was in serious trouble from the admittedly clever machinations of Alice Bundy, the bereaved best friend. If he hadn't been so focused on Jules's life or death situation, he might've been hurt by Carlton's very irritated and very rude greeting when he called him for backup.

Shawn was a little more forgiving of him the next day when he heard the whole story about what Lassiter had been dealing with during his temporary reassignment. He wasn't sure if it was funny or sad that Monroe and several other detectives had expected Lassy and Goochberg to hit it off famously; from what he heard, Goochberg was a pretty vile woman and, while Shawn acknowledged that Carlton had his foibles, he was usually decent, honest and fair, if a little -- rigid, traditional, tense and a few other stodgy things.

Maybe it was that undeniable urge to come to Lassy's defense in the face of the office gossip or the immediacy of the danger that Juliet had been in from Alice or maybe it was even because Shawn figured things out better when he didn't have time to think about them; whatever it was, Shawn was surprised to realize that he'd come to several conclusions sometime between "Mary Lou" showing up at his office and he, Gus and Jules' celebratory lunch at the station. 

He didn't want to admit it but part of it was also because of his now-days-old conversation with Gus. No matter what Shawn might have said to the contrary, Gus was one of the very few people whose opinions actually mattered to him. Separation might've been a factor as well and, though Shawn admitted that he'd never given much credence to the idea that absence made the heart grow fonder, his was certainly done good by his first real view of Carlton after so long apart.

It felt -- nice, he decided, to know what he wanted and how he wanted to get it but it was a revelation that could've come at a better time, especially since it was the middle of the day, he was sitting in the middle of lunch with his buddies and Lassiter was in the middle of a meeting with the Chief. 

Even the end of said meeting didn't change the fact that there was no way he could talk to Carlton any time soon and that, for someone who was as impulsive as Shawn, was like torture, especially since he still wasn't even certain of what Carly would be saying back.

Shawn just hoped that a smile and the fortune cookie could say what he couldn't. 

**

Long after he'd eaten the sugary crisps of cookie and stuffed the tiny slip of paper into his jacket pocket, the fortune in the cookie that Shawn had given stayed on Carlton's mind. 

_The heart is wiser than the intellect._

If he believed in fortune telling any more than he did in Shawn's supposed psychic ability, he might've considered it a sign; but since he didn't put credence in any sort of supernatural crap, he only considered it a very uncomfortable coincidence. It was exactly the kind of coincidence that gave people shivers up their spines and turned normally logical people into the types to read their horoscopes or avoid black cats but a coincidence nonetheless.

_The heart is wiser than the intellect._

It was still very -- coincidental.

As if his day hadn't come with enough nasty surprises. Carlton was genuinely horrified and mystified that _anyone_ who knew him would think that he had anything in common with that nightmare known as Goochberg. It seemed inconceivable that people who'd known him for years on the force could see any similarity between them. To know that they did -- that the Chief, Karen, with whom he'd thought he'd developed a rather friendly working relationship -- was a blow. Carlton had always known that his professionalism could be off-putting to his coworkers but he'd never thought it was quite so detrimental.

But as much as that realization did actually disturb him, Carlton knew he was using it as yet another reason to avoid thinking about Shawn -- ironic, because he still managed to think about Shawn constantly when he wasn't thinking about him. As much as he hated to admit it, Carlton had panicked when he'd woken up next to Shawn the day after his birthday -- just as he'd feared he would. It hadn't only been because he'd made the exact mistake he'd been trying to avoid, either.

Carlton had been to enough sessions of therapy to know that good sex never solved anything unless bad sex had been the problem in the first place. In all other cases, sex -- good or bad -- could help or hinder equally and tended to make already complicated situations even messier. None of that changed the fact, though, that sleeping with Shawn had illuminated a few things for Carlton and that had been the crux of his panic.

More than any conversation he'd had with Shawn or himself, something about that night had finally made it feel real -- that Shawn was Spencer was Shawn, that these two people were one in the same, one annoying but endearing teenager who'd charmed him out of his good sense who'd grown up into an equally annoying but endearing man who continuously drove him out of his right mind. 

Once again Carlton had promised himself that he'd take the time to figure it out, only to studiously ignore it. Shawn's silence had only reinforced the excuses he'd come up with on his own. After all, it wasn't as if Shawn had shown much interest past wanting to get him in bed. Now that he'd accomplished that, Carlton didn't find it all that difficult to believe that Shawn Spencer was probably done with him on a personal level.

Except...

_The heart is wiser than the intellect._

Carlton didn't quite believe that, as much as it would've made his life easier. Because if there was no future, then there was nothing to decide, except for how to stay away from Spencer as much as possible. And, in some part of him, Carlton wished it was that easy, that he could write off months and years of longing and go back to being the regular stiff who was pining for his ex-wife and failed marriage.

The truth was he hadn't given much thought to Jenny since the anniversary of their separation and even then Shawn had been on his mind.

He could keep ignoring it, or continue to write it off, or make the rational decision he had so long ago and not pursue it, or...

_The heart is wiser than the intellect._

For the third time in as many weeks, Carlton found himself standing in front of Shawn's apartment. He'd delayed the inevitable by stopping to shower and change after his shift but he still ended up right where he wasn't sure he wanted to be.

Given the amount of courage and determination he'd had to drum up to knock on Shawn's door, it was a great disappointment to Carlton when no one answered. Sighing, and faintly disbelieving of his luck, Carlton left the building, on auto-pilot as he started his car and drove toward his new house.

It hadn't been as bad as he'd feared, having to move out of his house, but he still preferred his old home to the new one. Still, he'd been lucky to find something relatively similar about a mile closer to the station. It wasn't ideal but it would do.

As he rounded the corner and slowed to pull into his driveway, his eyes widened at the sight of someone sitting -- _lounging_ \-- on his front steps. Even if he wasn't close enough to make out all the features of the lounger's face, he'd have recognized the slouch anywhere.

"Shawn," he said, loud enough to be heard, as he climbed out of his car. "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't that be obvious?" Shawn asked, perched up on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him.

Carlton conceded the point. "Maybe the better question would be how do you know where I live?"

"Psychic, remember?" Shawn reminded him.

Carlton snorted, coming to rest at the bottom of the steps, just about where Shawn's sneakered feet rested. "Hardly."

He pretended to be offended. "That hurts, Carly." Carlton just glared until Shawn gave up his silence. "Okay, fine. I wanted to -- well, talk, I guess."

To say that he was surprised was an understatement. "Talk?" he echoed, the nervousness churning back up inside him.

"Or we could just have sex again," Shawn offered quickly.

Part of him wanted to accept very badly but Carlton knew that it wouldn't resolve anything; falling into bed together had never resolved any of the issues that existed between them. "Talking -- sounds good."

Shawn sighed, looking entirely too dejected for someone who'd just been agreed with. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that."

Carlton was about to say something about Shawn's obvious reluctance to talk even though it was his idea when Shawn shifted, drawing himself up into a sitting position -- and giving Carlton a clear view of Shawn's shirt.

Whitesnake.

"Interesting wardrobe choice," he noted dryly, acknowledging his own recollections of the past, ones that Shawn seemed to think he'd forgotten wholesale.

Shawn looked down at his shirt before throwing Carlton a weak smile. "Call it a good luck charm. It was very _lucky_ the last time I wore, if you recall." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Carlton didn't know if Shawn realized that he'd unwittingly confirmed what Guster had told him about the shirt -- a fact that made something like guilt crawl through his veins. If Guster had been right about that, was he also right about the damage that Carlton had inflicted on Shawn? "You really haven't worn it since then?"

Shawn shrugged. "It's a good thing I kept my girlish figure, isn't it?"

"So Guster was right." he said quietly, automatically, for himself and not Shawn.

Shawn heard, though, and his eyebrows rose questioningly. "About?"

He hadn't meant to break his confidence with Guster about their conversation. "He said..."

"What?" Shawn wanted to know, a note of alarm in his voice. "When?"

Carlton didn't want to get into what he and Guster had actually discussed but he did have some questions about the past, some of which had been raised by that same conversation. He decided to risk it. "He implied...that I hurt you...in the past."

Shawn turned away, ducking his head so Carlton could no longer read his face. "And he said this when?"

"A few weeks ago."

After a moment, Shawn turned back to face him, shaking his head. "It looks like old Gussypants has had a lot to say lately," he snorted.

Carlton shot him a confused look, one that asked for clarification.

Shawn complied, waving a hand as if to dismiss Guster's words. "He had some stuff to say to me, too. Some of it was about you -- not that he's ever really been silent on _that_ subject."

Carlton couldn't help the alarm that he felt rising, alarm similar to what Shawn must've been feeling a moment earlier. "Care to fill me in?"

Shawn gave him one of those unreadable looks. "Not particularly."

Carlton rolled his eyes at Shawn's petulant tone. "You do know that 'talking' isn't just moving your mouth and letting sounds fall out, right? There's usually an actual point to what's being said."

"Which is why _I_ prefer sex," Shawn explained.

"Shawn..." Carlton said warningly, leaning against the porch railing.

"Therapy really has ruined you," he declared but caved after another pointed look. "Okay, fine." Instead of launching into an answer, Shawn paused, eyes fixed on some point out toward the horizon where the sun was starting to set behind the quiet houses of the neighborhood. Carlton waited in silence. 

Shawn's face was unnaturally serious, almost blank. "Gus seems to think that I'm in _love_."

Carlton wasn't sure what to say but his heart was hammering in his chest. "Oh?"

"...and have been since I was, oh, seventeen." Shawn continued, as if he was discussing the weather. "Which is rich coming from him since he once said I couldn't commit to someone long enough for the beer buzz to wear off. Shows how much he knows."

Not certain on how to untangle the mess of information and half-truths in what Shawn had said -- nor sure of how he felt about them -- Carlton slowly eased himself down on the step beside him. "And that means...what?"

"Exactly," Shawn told him, the laughter in his voice shaky and forced. 

There was only a few inches separating them; Carlton had to fight the urge to reach out and use touch to bridge the awkward communication gap between them but he knew where it would lead. Everything he'd had in his head when he'd knocked on Shawn's door had disappeared with the reality and he was groping to find his words. "So Guster's mistaken then?"

There was no immediate answer and Carlton found himself waiting again. He risked a glance at Shawn who was still watching the setting sun with the kind of dedication he rarely displayed, complete with furrowed brow and unnatural stillness. Carlton couldn't help but remember sitting on another porch with Shawn, doing much the same thing and he wondered how much more coincidence he could experience before he had to start thinking of better explanations. 

Finally Shawn spoke. "Gus is a pretty smart guy, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Perceptive, too. A little gullible but generally sharp."

"Which means?"

"It means..." Shawn broke his gaze on the sky and glanced toward Carlton, their eyes meeting for a moment before Shawn looked away again, eyes falling to his feet. "...what you think it means, I guess."

Carlton almost couldn't fathom the implications of Shawn's roundabout admission. That Shawn was in love with him, had been for all those years -- it was unbelievable. But then again, it wasn't; hadn't he been haunted by it himself, unable to forget it, even after Jenny? Only Shawn re-entering his life had shaken those memories' hold -- but that had been for reasons he hadn't fully understood at the time.

He'd never done casual, not even when he'd been a clueless 25-year-old who'd let himself make a series of bad decisions that had ended with Shawn's broken heart. That had been his biggest fear when he'd made the same bad decisions all those years later and had realized that what he felt for Spawn Spencer went beyond simple physical attraction because Spencer had seemed to do nothing but engage in endless flirtations and one-night stands.

But maybe that had been because -- of him.

There were so many things that Carlton wanted to say and do at that moment but he settled for something safe. "I think it means that Guster's right."

"Yeah?" Shawn glanced his way, the ghost of his usual charming smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah."

"I think it means that Gus has seen _The Way We Were_ way too many times but, you know, whatever floats your boat, Carly."

"And I think it means that Guster's sharp enough to be right about other things, too," Carlton ventured. "Which means I owe you an apology -- several, in fact."

"No need to go all sappy on me," Shawn hastened to say, finally turning to face him, hand raised in a staying motion. "That's all in the past now."

Carlton saw the echoes of the eager, painfully hopeful teenager in Shawn's obviously-learned nonchalance. "I still owe them to you," he said. "But...thanks."

Shawn grinned, throwing his head back in what could only be called a thoroughly flirtatious manner. "Well, all part of my ingenious and nefarious plan to keep astounding you."

He smiled in response. "You don't have to try nearly so hard."

"You think this is me trying hard?" Shawn asked. "You ain't seen nothing yet!"

Carlton snorted, shaking his head. "I was afraid of that."

"Speaking of seeing..." Shawn glanced around, then leaned in close. Carlton mimicked the movement until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Unless you want to put on a show for the neighbors, I think we outta continue this conversation inside."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "And by 'continue,' I mean have sex, of course."

Carlton was already standing. "Of course."

Shawn scrambled to his feet, deliberately brushing against Carlton as he headed up the stairs. "Come on," he urged, gesturing at the doors with both hands. "Open sesame!"

At that moment, Carlton didn't care who saw him lean over and kiss that smug smile off that self-satisfied face, especially given the whimper it coaxed from Shawn's throat. 

When he pulled away, Carlton realized that Shawn had somehow managed to steal his keys from him. "Shawn!"

"You were taking too long," he laughed, as he deftly unlocked the locks on the heavy front door. When the tumblers released, he pushed the door open with an air of supreme satisfaction, a glazed, intent look in his eyes. "I believe we have some christening to do."

**


	20. Chapter 20

Shawn hadn't yet had a chance to nose around Carly's new digs and he wasn't getting that chance now, either. From the moment he and Carlton had crossed the threshold, they'd been lip-to-lip, hands rushing and fumbling as Lassy tried to careen them down what Shawn assumed was a hallway toward the bedroom.

He didn't have any problems with Lassy's game plan; the execution, however, was leaving him with bumps and bruises as he collided with a wall and then with some kind of end table that only a girl or a neat freak would think to situate in a hall. And while he didn't mind it a little rough, he preferred to get his bruises from _bedroom_ acrobatics and not the warm-up.

By the time, Carlton kicked open the bedroom door -- and, yes, he was totally impressed by that little manly display -- things had slowed down. There was less scrambling and more lingering, especially Lassy's hands on any part of Shawn he could reach. Shawn followed his lead and let his hands slide slowly down Carlton's chest, scraping at the hair and skin he knew lay beneath the pristine white dress shirt.

As they finally broke apart from another long marathon kiss, Shawn's quick eyes skimmed over the room, catching on details of how the room differed from its predecessors: more pillows, less plaid, and a plastic rectangle tossed onto the bedside table. 

It was the fateful fake ID that had first brought him to the attention of one Carly Lassiter.

Shawn had only needed about 45 seconds to catalogue everything before he was once again focused totally on the idea of getting Lassy naked and in bed. But sometime in those precious seconds, Carlton had slowed from gentle to gently-extricating which made Shawn's heart, stomach and libido plummet all at once.

"Shawn." His voice was rough and breathy. "I just..."

He groaned and buried his head against Carlton's shoulder. "Please, please, please, no talking! Just sex!"

Carlton laughed, only the slightest tinge of nervousness in the sound. "Don't you think we still need to settle a few things?"

"Absolutely not," he assured him between nips at the pale column of skin rising above the necktie. "I love you, you love me, I want to have sex and you definitely need to have more sex, it's obviously win-win, what more is there to settle?"

He could feel all the resistance -- that last, desperate control that Shawn had always been skilled at breaking -- melt from Carlton as he renewed his hands' exploration of Shawn's body. "When you put it that way..."

"Smart, aren't I?" he gloated.

"Smart _ass_ , anyway."

Shawn decided he could live with that, as long as Carly kept up with the roving hands and lips. Impatient when he seemed to be content to explore under and through his thin T-shirt, Shawn took matters into his own hands and stepped back for a moment, stripping it from his body in one long motion. It was a little sexy trick he'd picked up a while back and he assumed from the way Carlton's eyes glazed over as he tossed it away that it was just as mind-numbing to police detectives as it had once been to vacationing New York socialites in Cozumel.

While he knew it was faintly undignified, Shawn bounced when he finally landed on the bed, tugging Carlton toward him as he went. He got kind of a thrill realizing how different this was from every other times they'd ended up in bed together. He was no longer a green but enthusiastic kid looking for his first lay or even a besotted teenager dopily following his crush's lead but instead a guy who'd had enough adventure in the last ten years or so to modestly consider himself _skilled_ if not expert in all matters of good sex. 

There was also a different feeling in the air that hadn't been there the last time he and Carlton had tumbled into bed together, something part of him wanted to label as euphoria even as another part of his brain was deciding that Gus's Word-A-Day calendar at the office was having a bad effect on him.

Shawn was snapped out of his rambling -- dare he say, nervous? -- thoughts by Carly's strong, restrained fingers brushing over his face, temples to cheeks to lips. He looked amused when Shawn's startled eyes found his. 

"You still with me, Spencer?" he asked quietly.

He nodded. "Just a little a psychic trance there," he grinned.

Carlton snorted his disbelief, though it was a more indulgent sound than Shawn was used to from him concerning his abilities. "Learn anything useful?"

"Of course," he said, working loose the tie dangling enticingly right within his reach. He removed it with a flourish that sent it sailing across the room. "It told me that things are gonna be a lot more interesting once I get you naked and in this bed."

"Do these lines of yours actually work?" Carly laughed, earning himself a pout from Shawn.

"You're here and almost naked, aren't you?" Shawn said as he quickly unbuttoned Carlton's shirt, remembering to check the cuffs before pushing the fabric off his shoulders, only to encounter the thankfully-empty shoulder holster.

"Point," he conceded. Carlton helped by shrugging out of the holster, reaching around to hang it on the bed post on what Shawn assumed was 'his' side before losing the shirt completely.

Shawn idly wondered where and when Carlton might have stashed his gun but decided that it was a mystery better left for another day because he had more pressing matters to deal with. His fingers skimmed down pale, naked flesh to Carly's belt which he undid with sure motions, the jangle of the buckle like fire in his blood. It joined the tie and the shirt and then Shawn's hands slid lower, over the tented fly. "I see you're packing a different piece today, Carly," he noted. "I approve."

Carlton cut off the rest of the line with his hard mouth on Shawn's. "I thought you were the one who didn't want to talk," he said after they'd broke apart, breathing heavily.

"Who knew compliments made you cranky?" he asked. His hands had since slid into Carlton's pockets, and he tossed the badge he found there onto the bedside table but when his other hand closed around the handcuffs, he paused, twirling them on his finger thoughtfully. "Ooh, these will definitely come in handy later."

"Handcuffs?" 

Shawn shrugged, still twirling them on one of his fingers. "What can I say? I'm a man of many kinks."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Carlton admitted, seizing the handcuffs and throwing them on the nightstand beside the badge. He was obviously getting impatient with Shawn's teasing because he grabbed him and tumbled them down to the bed in a tangle of mostly unclad bodies that Shawn heartily approved. He ended up on top -- naturally -- straddling Carlton, hands resting against the headboard as he leaned down to ravage his mouth. 

"I'm sure you got a few of your own. Let me guess," he murmured between kisses. "B&D? S&M? C&B? Breath play, electro play, cosplay, plain ol' role play?"

"I don't even know what half of those _are_ ," Carlton protested, reaching up to catch Shawn by the hair, dragging his mouth down to his again, ending the discussion.

Shawn might've been easily distracted but he had the kind of memory that allowed him to recall his point no matter how persuasive Carlton's sexual chicanery. "Admit it, you know you've been dreaming about handcuffing me to one of those benches at the station and having your way with me! I can see it in your eyes."

From the way that Carlton's eyes glazed again and something wicked flared in their depths, Shawn decided that his teasing might not have been too far from the truth and the thought gave him a little thrill that was positively masochistic in nature. He figured he should probably rein in those kinky impulses of his one day but he wasn't planning on that day being any one in which he had Carly under him in bed.

A wicked gleam of his own twinkling in his eyes, Shawn pulled away and dangled his wrists in front of him, one crossed over the other.

"Come on, _Detective,_ " he teased. "Cuff me."

To his utter delight, Carlton -- eventually -- obliged.

**

Carlton awoke to the sound of the most annoying cell phone ringtone he had ever heard in his life. He didn't remember adding that particularly terrible tune to his phone in the first place but he couldn't escape its shrilling whine, so he blindly rummaged around in the messy pile of clothes in the floor next to his bed until his fingers closed around the lumpy shape of the phone. 

He was barely awake enough to flip it open. "Lassiter," he growled.

" _Lassiter_?" 

It took him a moment to work through the sleep-induced brain-fog and place the incredulous voice. "Guster?"

"Lassiter!" Guster still seemed surprised. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my house, where you are?"

"I'm at the office." A pause. "I'm looking for Shawn."

Carlton knew that things were hazy but the conversation just wasn't making logical sense. "Then why the hell did you call me?"

"I didn't," Gus snapped. "I called _Shawn_."

At Guster's statement, Carlton finally looked at the cell phone he held in his hand. He knew immediately that it wasn't his -- it was the completely wrong shape and color.

"Oh." He could hear Guster's smugness through the speaker. "He'll call you back," he said before snapping the phone shut and tossing it onto the bedside table.

With sleep no longer clouding his mind, Carlton vividly recalled the past -- he glanced at his alarm clock -- several hours of his evening which had begun when he'd found Shawn sitting on his porch. He noted a surprising lack of a certain other person in his bedroom and had a quick, fleeting fear that Shawn had disappeared in the time when he'd been asleep but the fact that Shawn's clothes were still strewn across his bedroom floor dismissed that worry. Carlton pulled himself out of bed and reached for his bathrobe, only to find it missing. Rolling his eyes, he changed directions and instead grabbed a pair of sweats from a drawer, pulling them on before heading down the hall.

He'd only taken a few steps before he heard the unmistakable sound of Shawn's voice coming from his kitchen. Shawn was on the phone, leaning up against the island, tapping his fingers idly the marble countertop as he talked.

Carlton also noted that Shawn was wearing his missing robe.

"I know it's a little late, Mr. Soong," he was saying into the phone, "and a little out of your area but...by the way, how's Kiki and her little dog?" He stopped talking, listening to the person on the other end. "That's great! Half-hour, tops? Cool, see ya then." As soon as he hung up the phone, he turned to grin at Carlton. "Carly! Great timing! Dinner's on the way."

"It's almost midnight. Who delivers in this neighborhood at this hour of the night?" Carlton asked. He knew many of the places around the university stayed open until the wee hours of the morning, but...he was suddenly hit by another thought. "And why would Guster be looking for you at the office so late?"

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Well, I have connections with the best Chinese takeout in town, to answer your first question," he told him. "And to answer your second...huh?"

"Never mind." He waved it away. He'd eventually relay Guster's message, when he felt like it. 

Shawn was smiling at him as he slunk -- no other word for the way he slid his body -- toward him. Carlton thought he was going to be pounced on again but instead Shawn just moved into his personal space, content with their physical proximity. Carlton found he was, too. 

"How long have you been awake?" Carlton asked.

Shawn shrugged, the movement slow, letting his robe-clad arm slide against Carlton's bare chest. "Long enough to go through all your drawers, order a couple of porn flicks on your pay-per-view cable and, oh, send out some embarrassing mass emails from your computer." Shawn tsked him. "You really might want to think of something better than "ihatepsychics" for your password. Not only is it easy to guess, it's -- well, it's hurtful, Carly."

"Shawn..." There it was again, that fond exasperation he felt for Shawn when he let himself, that feeling that while Shawn might bring a little chaos, but he'd also bring laughter into his life. Carlton had fought it for awhile but he was finally beginning to see that it was a worthwhile trade-off.

The sex was nice, too.

"And if anyone asks you about Mr. Bubbles, well..." The mischief in younger man's face was practically putting off sparks.

Carlton did the only thing he could think of: he rolled his eyes, kissed him soundly, and manhandled him toward one of the chairs set around the cozy kitchen table. "I'm going to make some coffee," he announced, crossing to his coffee maker, already set for his morning pot. He deactivated the automatic brew setting and mashed the ON button as Shawn took a hint and slid into a chair.

"I have this terrible feeling that you _still_ want to talk," Shawn sighed.

"Is that a crime?" Carlton asked.

"God, I wish it was," Shawn said. "Sex and talking do not mix."

"Like you ever keep your mouth shut, even in bed." Carlton grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Shawn, daring him to contradict him. "I know that for a fact."

Shawn snorted. "Dirty talk is not talk _ing_ , Carlton."

Carlton didn't bother to say anything else as he went through the motions of making them both a cup of coffee. He knew that talking, making decisions -- grown up things -- tended to make Shawn cagey. He wondered if that was something else he could lay at his own door, given the way he'd treated him when he was younger; in all honesty, he figured he probably could. But he was prepared to make up for all his bad behavior from the past, if for no other reason than he wanted to keep this Shawn -- the impossible adult with the hint of the boy peeking through -- for as long as he possibly could.

He carried the mugs over to the table and gave Shawn the one with sugar but no cream, something he'd noticed during the so-called psychic's visits to the station. Shawn took an experimental sip as Carlton took his own seat.

"Hey, you got it right, Carly," he said, delighted.

"You're not the only detective in the room, you know."

Shawn just shot him a flirty look over the rim of his mug.

It was the kind of look that could almost short circuit Carlton's brain and he knew that it was calculated to avoid the talking. Unfortunately for Shawn, Carlton was on to his little tricks and fought valiantly to stay focused. 

He cleared his throat. "So..."

"So...?"

Carlton took another deep breath and continued. "A few hours ago, you told me you loved me." Despite the heated nature of the moment, Carlton hadn't missed that simple, straightforward confession.

Shawn's face pinkened but he didn't look away or deny the words. "I also said in the same breath that you love me," he challenged. "What do you have to say about that?"

"I..." It was more difficult when he was the one in the hot spot, so to speak. The last two people he'd admitted to caring about had both hurt him, though his pain lingered with Jenny, Lucinda only a pale echo of that first wound. But Carlton knew there had to be risks if he wanted the reward, even if he'd become unused to taking those kind of chances. 

"I...didn't find anything wrong with your assessment," he finally said.

There weren't words for the look that lit Shawn's face, even if it quickly passed and settled into a more commonplace look of pleasure. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"Well..." Carlton paused to take a gulp of his coffee. "I'm glad that you're glad."

Shawn's grin widened. "Well, I'm glad that you're glad that I'm --"

Carlton held up a hand. "Don't start that, Spencer."

Shawn nodded his agreement, his smile even wider. He took a sip of his coffee, then sat his mug down with a thud. "So now that we've turned into total _girls_ and shared this wonderfully heartfelt declaration...what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What does it mean?" Shawn waved his hands between them. "You...know...for...us?"

"Oh." Carlton, despite Shawn's accusations, really wasn't as good at this touchy-feely-talking crap as he liked to pretend, especially when Shawn was the one asking the difficult questions. "I figured we'd keep doing this. You know, regularly."

"The sex, you mean?" Shawn asked hopefully.

"And the talking," Carlton added. "And the whole hanging around each other, sharing the occasional meal, and..."

"You know, Lassy, that sounds an awful lot like a _relationship_ ," Shawn said. "Or, as I like to call it, a _thing_."

"Yeah, it does," Carlton agreed.

"So you want this to be a thing?" Shawn asked after a minute, much more quietly. Carlton didn't miss the fact the Shawn's eyes were suddenly captivated with the ugly border on his kitchen walls.

"Yeah, I do," he said, no reluctance in his answer. He grinned at his own confidence.

"Cool." Shawn's wandering eyes finally met his again, and he started grinning, too. "Things can kinda end up being long-term sometimes."

Carlton reached out and brushed his fingers over Shawn's knuckles where they lay on the tabletop. "It's been a thing for ten years now," he said. "I think it already qualifies as very long term, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." The smile he got for that was blinding. Carlton's prediction of a pounce also finally came true as Shawn managed to wiggle onto his lap.

"Carly, has anyone ever told you that you were a gooey chocolate chip cookie?" 

He didn't get a chance to answer that particular accusation because Shawn was too intent on bringing their mouths together in a desperate crush of lips. Shawn tasted like sugar and coffee, with a hint of the hazelnut from the prissy flavored beans the Chief had given Carlton for a belated birthday gift and he was finally appreciating its rich flavor, though he was more appreciative of the way he was currently tasting it.

Only the sound of the doorbell pulled them apart. "Dinner," Shawn said breathlessly as he climbed off Carlton's lap. He shot him another devilish look. "I hope you're in the mood for Chinese."

As he watched Shawn disappear down the hallway -- barefoot, in _his_ robe -- Carlton decided that he was in the mood for anything Shawn wanted.

Dangerous, yes, but Carlton couldn't bring himself to regret it in the least, even though it had taken them so long to get there.

Finally, the stars had aligned in the proper places and they were in the right place at the right time.

**


	21. Chapter 21

Shawn wasn't sure if it was their phenomenal arrest record or the commendation the team had received from the mayor, but Chief Vick was in one hell of a good mood when Christmas finally rolled around, so much so that she threw a more private holiday bash a few days after the departmental one -- one to which he, Gus and Henry had been cordially invited.

Lassy and Jules were there, too, along with some of the Chief's personal friends and Shawn couldn't help but be touched that she liked him enough to acknowledge him in front of non-work people. Of course, he figured most of her fondness was probably due to her rekindled friendship with his father, but he'd take what he could get.

The day of Vick's party marked the 42th-day anniversary of his thing with Carlton, if he counted from around Halloween when they'd finally tried to set things straight between them. While that might not have seemed like very long to most people, it had already passed every one of Shawn's relationship records and was even more extraordinary since he had no plans to hop on his bike and jump town. 

There was only one little blemish on his and Lassy's monogamous bliss and that was their shared terror in what to do next. So far, a grand total of one person besides the two of them knew they were even together and that was only because Shawn couldn't hide the well-laid look from a friend like Gus; he'd just known him too long for it. The point wasn't so much that they wanted other people to know -- Lassy seemed as apprehensive about the idea as Shawn did -- but they both knew if there was going to be any chance of longevity to their thing, it had to be handled eventually, probably sooner rather than later. 

Fortunately, they both agreed that "sooner" was a very relative term and basically described a time at which they could no longer keep it a secret. 

Shawn was all for secrets; he was still keeping more than he could count from Lassy and that was even after the heartfelt confession part of their thing. One of those secrets happened to be the truth behind his psychic-ness -- not that Carlton really believed him. But secret-keeping was more difficult than he wanted it to be when everyone he knew was jammed into one room and plied with alcohol for hours.

And that was the one downside of the Chief's party.

He was on his best behavior but he knew that that wasn't anyone's definition of stellar conduct. Still, so far he'd kept himself away from trouble, mostly by keeping himself away from Carlton and away from the liquored-up eggnog. 

If his father hadn't been there, Shawn's worry would've been negligible, but Henry's involvement in anything tended to ratchet up the tension for him. Part of it was general Spencer-family issues, but the other part of it was that Henry Spencer was a damn good detective who didn't need much in the way of clues to ferret out his son's secrets.

And his son's biggest secret was standing ten feet away from them, talking with the Chief's husband, generally being irresistible to Shawn by doing nothing at all. 

Shawn was pulled back from his wandering thoughts by the Chief, who made her way to the Spencer-Guster cluster.

"Good evening, Henry, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster," she said, smiling. The Chief looked good, Shawn noticed. She looked...softer than she did at work, more relaxed than Shawn had ever seen her. And she seemed to genuinely be glad to see them -- well, Henry -- if her smile was any indication.

"Hey, if it isn't my favorite Interim Chief," Shawn said in greeting, lifting his glass of eggnog in silent salute. "This is one heck of a rockin' party!"

"I'm glad you approve, Mr. Spencer," she said, lifting her eyebrow in her usual faintly ironic way.

Henry, more jovial than made Shawn comfortable, leaned forward and gave Vick a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Kid's right, Karen," he said. "And that little girl of yours...cute as a button."

"Thanks, Henry."

Shawn tuned out the love fest going on between his boss and his father, and felt his eyes wander across the room, back in Lassy's direction. The last few days had not been the best for them, time-wise, and they'd spent more time talking on the phone than they had in each other's company. Shawn blamed that separation -- brought on by a rotating stakeout on Carly's part, and a private case on Shawn's -- for the fact that he couldn't keep his mind off Lassy.

Deciding that he could blame any outrageous behavior on the over-spiked eggnog, Shawn broke off from Henry, the Chief, and Gus, who were currently discussing...medical insurance? Shawn shook his head, ditched the boring grown-up types, and slinked through the milling partygoers until he reached Lassy and Jules.

"Jules!" he enthused, arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "You look hot! Like a girl, even!"

While most people wouldn't have considered that much of a compliment, Juliet spoke his language well enough to take it the right way. "Well, thank you, Shawn," she said, grinning, posing a little to show off her snug, red, wraparound dress. "Glad you noticed."

"Well, I didn't at first," he said, eyes light with mischief. "But Gus? He couldn't stop talking about how great you looked."

Juliet's eyes went wide, and Shawn decided if his hunch played right, he wouldn't be owing Gus anything for Christmas this year. The junior detective shot a quick glance at her partner, who Shawn had been purposely ignoring since he walked over. "Carlton, do you mind if I...?" She wiggled her fingers in Gus's direction. 

Lassy sighed. "Knocked yourself out, O'Hara," he told her.

She smiled at both of them and dashed off.

Shawn turned his eyes to Lassy. "And good evening to you...Detective."

"I thought we were keeping our distance tonight, Spencer," Lassy said through gritted teeth.

"I tried, but you're just too magnetic, Carly," he said, batting his eyelashes in an astounding mockery of his usual flirtatious manner. "Couldn't help myself."

Carlton had been exposed to him enough in the last 42 days that he only reacted to Shawn by rolling his eyes and sighing. "Why do I think that Guster hasn't mentioned O'Hara's dress once tonight?"

"He...would've," Shawn said. "If he hadn't been too busy drooling."

"I can't believe you're trying to play matchmaker with _Guster_ and _O'Hara_ ," Carlton said.

Shawn noticed that Carlton didn't look directly at him, probably for the same reason Shawn couldn't stop looking at Lassy. He was feeling the separation, too, and he was fighting the desire to drag Shawn home to bed -- or let Shawn drag him. They were both showing remarkable amounts of self-control that evening.

Shawn found it endearing, and sidled closer, whispered in Lassy's ear. "Just think of all the time we wouldn't have to worry about Gus being around if he's off sparking with Jules somewhere. Just think of the alone time we could have, you know, at the _office_." Shawn knew it was his kink to have sex at the Psych office, but obviously he'd explained it in enough detail before that the mention made Carlton's breath hitch.

"Shawn, I swear, if we're going to make it through tonight, you are going to have to _behave_." The words were strangled, frustrated, quite serious.

Shawn just grinned. "Oh, Carly, you're _so_ gonna change your mind about that."

**

Having a "thing" with Shawn Spencer had turned out to be as chaotic, nerve-wrecking, and generally insane as Carlton had always worried it would be but he had yet to feel one moment of regret over that fact. Of course, it had only been forty-some-odd days, but then Carlton also felt like it had been years and years; he was, obviously, too far gone to be affected by common sense at this point.

Carlton was affected enough, however, to know that if he wanted to make it through Vick's Christmas party without outing them both in a very humiliating way, he needed to stay as far away from Shawn as possible. After Shawn had come around purring in his ear, Carlton had beat a hasty retreat, working his way into a group of schmucks from City Hall whose idiocy was a welcome distraction. He eventually moved on, circling the room in such a way that he avoided Shawn as much as possible.

It was by some terrible sequence of events that Carlton eventually ended up with Henry Spencer and Guster.

As much as he'd enjoyed Henry as a fishing companion, Carlton had eased off that friendship as soon as he and Shawn had started up again. Knowing that Henry was the faceless, nameless cop he'd feared as a young man, and knowing that they were both deliberately not telling Shawn's father about their relationship ended any fun Carlton could've had with the man. He didn't have that kind of brass, not even as a almost-forty-year-old-man.

Still Henry was friendly enough with him, and the eggnog had helped lubricate the social situation, as they say. After the two exchanged the usual pleasantries, the camaraderie had been comfortable enough Carlton didn't feel the need to dash off -- even if Guster was smirking at him every time he glanced over.

"I hope that son of mine isn't driving you too crazy," Henry said conversationally. 

Carlton somehow kept a straight face even as Guster started choking on his eggnog. "We've reached a truce of sorts for the moment."

"Don't let him give you too much hell, Carlton," Henry advised. "He can be a handful -- I know."

Carlton shot Guster a look when he choked once again on his drink. The cop could only imagine the color Shawn's partner-in-crime would have in his face if his dark skin didn't mask it.

Henry searched the room with his eyes, looking for his errant son. He finally spied him in one of the corners, having a lively conversation with O'Hara under the mistletoe. He shook his head. "You better watch it, Gus," he said, pointing the pair out with his glass. "It looks like Shawn is trying to put the moves on that girl you were making eyes at earlier."

Carlton couldn't tell if Guster was embarrassed by Henry's casual remarks about his feelings for O'Hara, but he figured the guy had to be immune from it as long as he'd known Shawn. Instead, Guster cut an amused glance in Carlton's direction before he answered. "I'm not worried, sir," he said. "I'm pretty sure Shawn has got his eyes on someone else."

Henry snorted. "Like that matters with Shawn."

"No, I think it's definitely pretty serious this time," Guster told him.

Carlton had to fight off a little smirk at Guster's belief in the statement.

"Yeah, right," Henry snorted again. "The last time Shawn took any romance seriously, he was -- what? -- 17 or so? He spent that whole summer mooning over someone named Carly."

Carlton and Guster shared a look of companionable, horrified surprise. "He told you about that?" Guster sputtered.

Henry shot him an 'are you out of your mind?' look that Carlton had seen on Shawn a time or two. "What? No! Of course not, but I was around, kid. I know the two of you thought I was completely oblivious, but you weren't exactly pros at keeping your voices down. I couldn't help but hear him whine over Carly, and then you bitch at him for whining over her."

"Uh, wow." was Guster's brilliant reply. Carlton just downed the rest of his eggnog.

"And since that's the only time I've really heard him whine over some girl and I never even saw her?" Henry made a vague gesture with his hands. "Shawn wouldn't know serious if it bit him on the ass."

Guster couldn't keep in his laughter at that, even though there seemed to be a thin edge of hysteria to it. Carlton was glad he'd finished his drink already, or else he'd be choking on it the way he was Henry's words.

Brandishing his empty eggnog like a weapon, he excused himself from the conversation and beat another hasty retreat.

**

Gus really hadn't been looking forward to the Chief's party that much, if only because he felt miserable being the only person in the room who knew about Shawn and Lassiter -- especially when they made goopy eyes at each other across the floor that made him want to beat their hands in and confess to the world so Gus could stop feeling the burden of the secret on him.

It was especially difficult when Shawn expected him to babysit his father all night. Gus liked Henry, always had, but the man was scary as hell, and Gus did not hold up well under interrogation. He knew if Shawn's dad got one whiff of suspicion, he'd turn his evil powers on Gus and that would be that.

The party, however, surprised him, and so far he was having a great time. First had been the sight of Jules in her hot-damn dress, then she'd come over and worked it. Gus had earned some good-natured ribbing from Henry about it, but he could tell Mr. Spencer approved of his current choice of lady friend. Juliet was hot, like comic books, and carried a gun. Gus was pretty sure he could fall for that if he could work up the nerve to do something about it.

Second, he'd never had as much fun at Lassiter's expense as he had watching him react to Henry's bent recollection of Shawn's summer of "Carly." For a second, he'd been worried, too, but once he'd realized how off Henry was about one certain thing -- gender -- it had been a gleeful exchange, for him, anyway. Lassiter had looked like he was about to pass out before he slunk off. Gus loved it.

In fact, he was still laughing to himself about it when Shawn decided join them again. He was a little red in the face, but Gus figured he'd gotten it from the dancing he'd been doing with one of the hot legal secretaries Vick had invited from her old job at City Hall. 

"Hey!" he announced, swinging arm around Gus's shoulders and ignoring the knowing look on Henry's face. 

"Did you have fun kissing every girl in the room?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not every girl," he amended. "I still haven't managed to catch our esteemed hostess under the leaves and berries."

"And you won't," Henry told him. "Karen's sharper than any move you're packing, pal."

"Yeah, she used to work with you, right?" Shawn was leering comically, layering on the innuendo. "I keep meaning to ask you about that."

Henry looked a little horrified. "About what?"

"About how chummy you are with the Chief," Shawn said. 

"We're _friends_."

"You _kissed_ her when we got here."

"It was a _friendly_ kiss!"

"Sure, Dad, sure." Shawn gave him a broad wink and Henry glared at him. Gus knew his friend was only doing it to piss Henry off -- the thought of his dad with anyone but his mom sent him into hysterics, but Shawn would play anything to rile his dad in moments like this.

When Henry didn't respond out loud, Shawn gave up. Instead, he crowded in next to Gus, and asked, "I thought I saw Carly over here a minute ago. Any idea where he went?"

"I think he needed a refill," Gus said. "So maybe the kitchen?"

Henry eyed them both. "Are you talking about Carlon Lassiter?"

"Uh, yeah, Dad," Shawn said, in a perfect regression to his 17-year-old self. "What was your first clue?"

Henry's eyes were narrowing, which was never a good sign. "You call him Carly?"

Shawn shrugged. "Yeah, sure. It's his name, and he gets offended by _Lassy_ for some reason I can't figure out...."

"Doesn't that, I don't know, bring up bad associations for you?"

"I think it brings 'em up for him, which is why he doesn't like to be called Lassy, like the dog."

"No, I meant Carly. You know -- _Carly._ Like that...old friend...of yours."

Shawn was confused, but Gus was catching up fast and his eyes widened. 

"Dad, I don't know anybody else named Carly."

"Sure you do."

"No," Shawn said. "I don't. A biker named Curly, sure, but no other Carlys but Carlton Lassiter. It's what I've always called him."

Gus watched as that look he'd been afraid of all night passed over Henry's face. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really." Shawn shook his head. "Dad, I think you need to lay off the drunk punch, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he headed off, no doubt in search for Lassiter.

Gus wanted to open his mouth and call him back, but he couldn't work it properly.

Henry had that look pinned on him, and Gus knew what was coming.

Suddenly, the party _sucked_.

**

Juliet was enjoying herself immensely at Chief Vick's party, but she needed a breather after the last half-hour. Not only had Shawn managed to embarrass her thoroughly by kissing her -- and everyone else -- under the mistletoe, but he'd then persuaded her to join in the impromptu dancing he'd started. It had been great fun, but now she was overly warm, stifled by the room.

She headed through the kitchen, toward where she knew the Vicks had a back deck. It actually wrapped around to the living room as well, but she couldn't stomach pushing through the partygoers to reach the glass doors they had opened for that purpose. She just wanted a few minutes in the cool air before she dove back in for the rest of the evening.

Juliet was about to step out onto the darkened deck when she heard a vaguely familiar voice speak. "Lassiter."

She couldn't place the voice, but it clicked into place when she heard her partner's reply. "Henry."

Through some instinct, Juliet stayed just outside the back door, peering at the two men from behind its obscured safety. She didn't want to walk out into a private conversation, and something told her that was what she had stumbled upon.

"I had an interesting talk with my son earlier this evening," Henry said. "Seems he calls you...Carly."

"Among other things."

"But what was funny was he didn't have any recollection of that Carly chick _I_ mentioned to you earlier tonight."

"Real funny."

Juliet had never heard Carlton sound so wary before, not anytime she'd heard him speak. She didn't understand the import of the conversation at all but the tone of her partner's voice warned her she was missing something.

"Then I had a chat with Gus," Henry continued. Juliet could barely make out their forms from her hiding place, two dark figures against the dim, starlit night. "And _he_ started spouting nonsense that I still haven't deciphered, but it left me with the impression that you were the one I needed to talk to."

"Henry, if you have a question, I suggest you ask it."

"Any reason Shawn says he only knows one Carly and that's you, even though I know as good as I stand here that there was a Carly who he moped over for months when he was a kid?"

"Yes, there's a reason."

Juliet thought both men were acting very strangely, but she couldn't figure out why. She knew she was still missing some piece of the puzzle.

"I think you should be sharing it about now." Shawn had never sounded as menacing as his father did with that one sentence, and she doubted her goofy friend would ever be able to.

In the darkness, she could see Lassiter turn toward Henry, straightening to his full, lanky height. It was something she'd seen him do on the job, knew he was gathering himself for a confrontation. She waited. Finally, he spoke. "It's not difficult to work out."

"The only thing I can think of, other than that my son has developed some kind of weird selective memory loss which I _highly_ doubt, is that there is only one "Carly" and --"

"Jules! What are you doing?" Shawn's whisper in her ear scared Juliet out of her skin, and she reacted as any sane woman in her position: she bit back a squeal and clamped a hand over his mouth. 

"Your dad and Lassiter are having a very weird conversation about you and somebody named Carly out on the deck," she whispered. 

Shawn's eyes widened and he gestured for her to remove her hand from his mouth. He didn't say anything, but squashed in with her behind the door, obviously listening.

"I can't say you're wrong about that, Henry," Lassiter was saying when Juliet refocused on them. She felt less like a eavesdropper with Shawn as unashamedly interested as her. "I'm not going to lie."

There was a long pause. "He was _17_ , Lassiter." Henry's voice vibrated with anger. "And you were _quite_ a bit older."

"I know." His words were quiet, and Juliet was surprised at the sadness in them. She glanced at Shawn to see if he understood the conversation, but his expression was so uncharacteristically serious, she didn't dare distract him.

"And now?" Shawn's father asked.

"He's an adult," Lassiter said. Shawn tensed at her side. "And we've finally...figured it out."

"Have you now?" Henry still sounded scary and Juliet was still as confused as she'd been from the start. 

Shawn squeezed out from behind her and stepped out on the deck before she realized his intent. "Dad, give it a rest, will ya?"

Since Shawn knew she was there, Juliet risked edging around the door to more clearly see the three of them. Both Henry and Carlton were staring at Shawn, who was glaring at his father, arms crossed.

"Maybe you can clarify a few points for me, then, Shawn," Henry said, crossing his arms in the exact same fashion. 

Shawn and Lassiter exchanged an unreadable glance before Shawn finally answered. "Like what? Like, Carlton's _the_ Carly which you've already figured out? Or did you mean what he was saying about now? Because, yeah, we're sleeping together. _Again_."

Juliet had the last piece of the puzzle, finally. It just made her wonder if she'd lost her mind along the way. _Shawn and Lassiter?_ Her mind was blown.

She must've made a noise of surprise because someone new answered. "Me too, girl. Me, too," Gus whispered behind her, reassuring hand on her shoulder. She was grateful for his solid support while the world tilted dangerously around her. _Shawn and Carlton having sex?!_

"Guster said you were serious now," Henry said to Shawn. "He telling the truth?"

"Does Gussypants ever lie?" Shawn replied. "Especially to you?"

Henry conceded with a nod. "This is insane, Shawn, on so many levels."

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

Henry didn't reply, but turned to glare at Lassiter. "Shawn is an adult, and I can't say anything about what he does now." 

Lassiter nodded tightly.

"You just better be glad I never found out then."

"I know."

"As fun as all this is, can we go back to the party before someone notices we're _all_ gone?" Shawn gestured to include Juliet and Gus in the doorway. Juliet pinked when the two other men realized she was there.

"Sure, I don't want to ruin Karen's party," Henry said. He glanced at Lassiter. "There's just one more thing."

Lassiter looked at him. "Yes?"

Before anyone knew what was happening, Henry Spencer landed a very heavy right to Lassiter's face, which sent the detective stumbling toward the ground. Juliet squeaked again -- she thought Gus did, too. Lassiter managed to right himself, and lift a hand to his already-purpling face. "I guess I deserved that."

Shawn huffed and headed over to Carlton's side, looping one of the detective's arms around his shoulders for support. "Dad, as much as it means to me that you're proving your fatherly love and concern through violence, I'd be a lot more appreciative if you didn't beat up my boyfriend, okay?"

Just when Juliet thought the whole mess couldn't get any worse, another voice rang out, strong and clear.

"What in the hell is going on here? And why did Henry just punch my head detective?"

They all turned to see the Chief glaring at the lot of them.

Shawn grinned and pulled Lassiter closer. "Well, Dad, I think that's your cue."

Gus and Juliet exchanged glances. 

Suddenly, the night was no longer looking very bright.

**

"We are never ever _ever_ going to any parties ever again," Shawn announced as he came out of Carlton's kitchen carrying a bag of frozen peas. "Ever."

Carlton had his head tilted against the back of the sofa, hoping to relieve some of the pounding in it. "That's what you say now, but I know you better than that."

"Nope, it's a rule now. Never again." Shawn plopped down next to him, somehow arranging himself so that one leg dangled over Carlton's as he gently applied the bag of peas to the left side of Carlton's face.

Carlton winced as the cold hit the bruise he knew he was going to have. "I'm not that lucky."

"You're very lucky," Shawn disagreed. "Dad left his brass knuckles at home."

Carlton chuckled in spite of himself, wincing at the pain it sent through his head. "Not lucky enough."

"I don't know..." Shawn ran his practiced hands over Carlton's shirt-clad shoulders, digging in masseuse-like at all the right points. Carlton groaned and Shawn grinned. "I came home with you. That says something."

"You mean other than the fact I'm a masochist?"

Shawn's lips trailed down toward Carlton's ear. "We haven't played that game yet, Carly, and I don't think you're up for it tonight."

Carlton stopped himself from laughing to save himself added pain in his face.

Shawn watched him for a moment. "The peas gonna be enough?"

"It's about all I can do," Carlton admitted. "Your dad packs one hell of a punch."

"Don't I know it?" Shawn said.

"I didn't plan for him to find out that way."

"Me neither, but at least it's done," Shawn said. "And, hey, we broke the news to Jules and the Chief at the same time. One stone, lotsa birds."

"Don't remind me," Carlton groaned. 

"Do you feel better now?" Shawn asked, and for a moment Carlton thought he meant now that Shawn was making himself comfortable on him, which would have been a resounding YES. "Is that boatload of guilt gone now that you've confessed your terrible old sins and had the crap knocked out of you for it?"

Carlton seriously considered Shawn's question. Did he felt better now that Henry knew? Now that he'd actually suffered some ramifications from his past behavior that wasn't the frustrating-but-good fortune to have Shawn back in his life?

"Actually, yes," he finally said. "I do."

Shawn removed the melting bag of peas and ran light fingers down the side of his face. "I hope it was worth it because you're going to be black and blue tomorrow."

Carlton wrapped his arms around Shawn. "I think it's a fair trade, although this was not how I wanted to spend the evening with you."

"The night's still young, and you're only a little banged up," Shawn said, punctuating his words with brushes of his mouth against Carlton's. "I can work with this."

"Can you now?"

Shawn kissed him again, long and hard, and Carlton didn't notice the sparks of pain flaring in his face thanks to the sparks of pleasure flaring down his chest as Shawn worked at the buttons of his shirt. He slid his hands up under Shawn's shirt, also seeking warm, bare flesh. 

"Oh, Lassy you have no idea."

"Actually, I think I do," he told him. "And it was worth it. Everything was."

Carlton caught a glimpse of Shawn's smile before he kissed him again. "I couldn't agree with you more, Carly."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Right Place, Wrong Time (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594316) by [Dark_Dreymer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Dreymer/pseuds/Dark_Dreymer)




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